


Glass

by Courtanie



Series: Faterianea [1]
Category: South Park
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Blood and Violence, F/M, Fae & Fairies, Imprisonment, M/M, New language, Pixies, Skin melting, Slow Burn Romance, Species Swap, domestic abuse, new mythology
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2018-07-12 12:48:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 91,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7104115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Courtanie/pseuds/Courtanie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stuck in a rut as a humdrum tailor, Kenny always wanted to believe that there was more to life outside of his small village. When he stumbles across a rebellious, redheaded fairy and gets wound up in the dangers of the supernatural realm, he gets more of a change than he ever bargained for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: The Edge of the World

**Author's Note:**

> Restarting this story because I realized there was a lot more that I wanted to do with the concept.
> 
> So I crafted the mythology and the lore and I have a map in the works, things are gonna be longer and smoother this time around. I'll get it right. We're in a hella ambiguous time period and we're not in Colorado anymore, so asking for specifics will literally get you nowhere because I'm just indecisive (as if rebooting a story didn't prove that enough.) Thanks for either following me over or just joining, and hope you enjoy~

Swept in the tide of the night sky, the waves of the hovering galaxy splashing on their faces in arrays of mottled color, two children hiked through the tall reeds and grass, set to sail on their journey towards the ever-shifting marvel of the stars. A boy and a girl, ages nine and six respectively, tromped through the grass hanging over their heads. The girl rested with her arms swung lazily over the boy's shoulders, his arms bent back to support under her knees, spine curved forward to help her keep her balance. She served as their lookout for the clearing past the field, fidgeting all the while in impatience.

"When'll we be there?" She whined.

He laughed quietly, shifting her again and rolling his shoulders to reinvigorate lost feeling in his nerves. "I don't know, Kare, you're the one who can see."

Her lips twisted into a pout, brown eyes deep and full as buckeyes flickering back up to gaze past the blades rustling in the wind. She reached out a curious hand, fingers swiping along one of them and she winced, the sharp edge like parchment sheering over her skin. Rubbing the damage with her thumb, she turned her attention back forward, thin neck craning to make herself even taller. She squinted in the darkness of the night, still just barely adjusted from leaving the comfort of dying candlelight and stepping into the thick blanket of sprinkled starlight. From past the swaying stalks, she could see a dip, where the array seemed to stop altogether, where if it weren't for the lingering mountains painted in the skyline far past their reach, she could swear that it was where the world ended. From the loss of grass came the gift of floating lights hovering around the void and she grinned, baby tooth gaps littering her profile and letting the gentle breeze rush into her mouth and assault her tongue. "We're almost there," she announced.

Her brother sighed in silent relief, his back beginning to ache, neck gaining a crick from keeping it bent so she could see over locks of thick, disarrayed blonde hair stained grey in the pale light. He picked up the pace just a tad, feeling her arms tighten around him and licking his lips in anticipation for their journey to be over. Feet clothed in thin leather made little impact on the ground, taking down a mere few blades as he pressed onwards. Soil softened from the night prior's rain sank under his scrawny weight, mucking up his soles and forcing him to remind himself to take them off before he entered their home upon their return. With each step the ground turned just a bit harder, raising from pure, rich and moist land ideal for crop production and raising into hardened dirt that dried within the hour, speckles of short grass began to litter their pathway, ignite them both with renewed energy as they began to seep out of the humdrum repetitive landscape into new horizons. Finally, he crossed the threshold of the reed prison into the crisp night air. Karen slid off his back, his knees bending to help her down and he took a long breath. The psychological stifling claustrophobia was finally at an end, nothing but a large stretch of land; flat, yielding, and full of fireflies.

The kids looked at each other with wide grins, their faces dancing in the illumination of the bugs hovering around them curiously. "Ya get the jars, Kenny?" Karen asked. He nodded, reaching into a faded and worn sack tossed over his shoulder and hanging off his hip haphazardly. He grasped around a plain, smooth cylinder, a scrap of cloth tied in place with twine over the top. He handed it down to Karen who gripped at it excitedly, small hands barely able to grasp all the way around the surface. Kenny reached back into his bag and pulled out his own jar, holding it down at an angle for her to see.

"All right, remember, if ya catch one, ya gotta put the cloth back on," he reminded her.

She rolled her eyes dramatically, "I _know_ , Ken." She undid the lazily secured bow of her twine and wrapped it around her wrist, peeling the cloth off the lip of the jar, eyes darting around excitedly for the biggest swarm of lightening bugs to hunt through. She pointed excitedly down the path as Kenny worked on opening his own jar. "That one! I'm goin' for that one!" she declared, already rushing towards it.

Protective blue eyes swept over her, watching for odd shadows in her path that could lead to a fall. "Just don't go t' the woods, Karen!" he called after her. She let out a half-acknowledging sound as she ran into the swarm, sweeping her jar up and down attempting to snag as many bugs as she could in one go. Kenny smiled warmly at her enthusiasm, remembering fondly how their elder brother Kevin used to take him out to do the same thing when he was Karen's age. Kevin would always tell him it'd stop someday, that eventually he'd have to work with their dad to put food on the table, so to enjoy it while he could. Kenny would never tell Karen such a thing, prolonging the adventure for her as much as he could manage, determined to only let it fade when she decided it was time.

He broke from Karen's giggling excitement, choosing his own target in front of him. He licked his lips, bearing his weight down into his toes and getting his cloth ready to smack down and prevent any escapees. Launching forward, he sprang into the fray, wincing at the sensation of the patter of fireflies smacking against his face like heavy raindrops. He closed his mouth, folding in his lips as a tight hold against any that may feel up to wandering towards the warmth of his jaw. Swiftly, his jar soared into a practiced upward arc, snagging four bugs in its path and sending disoriented creatures who missed the mouth asunder. He quickly rounded back, letting the air pressure keep the first round held down as he went back through the mass towards his other hand. He cupped his palm just enough to lightly secure the cloth over the hold before flattening down and holding it snugly in place, raising the jar to peer inside. He counted a good nine bugs, nodding to himself satisfactorily. Not as good as his record-holding fifteen, but a great start nonetheless. He glanced through the dancing lights, watching Karen continue to laugh and swing her jar around in a clumsy but perfected manner that only a child could pull off. He smiled warmly before something in the distance caught his eye as she continued to move forward. A large, silhouetted figure lingered beyond her.

He frowned, pivoting and starting to move towards her as she continued on. "Karen?" he called suspiciously. "Stop movin' away from me."

She paused, turning and staring at him, blinking at the intrusion of being ripped from her wonderland by her older brother's overprotective nature. She frowned just slightly, "I'm not goin' _far_ ," she protested. He glanced up as the figure moved slightly, looking towards them and he picked up the pace, running and grabbing around her, swinging her back behind him as she scoffed at the treatment. Light blue gleamed cautiously at the splotched figure blocking out a portion of the night sky.

"Go away," he bit, backing Karen up further.

They laughed, a man's deep chuckle, one of pure amusement without the slightest tinge of malice. Kenny sunk down in the slightest, still wary as he felt Karen grab at his arm, alarmed by the voice she didn't know was there. "It's all right, Kids," the voice promised, the figure stepping closer towards them and Kenny inching them back. Parts of his face became illuminated as fireflies hovered about and he neared them, Kenny's shoulders sinking in relief at recognition at long last.

"Mr. Meryl," Kenny laughed quietly to himself, feeling Karen slackening her hold on his clothes. He gazed up at the elderly artist, a man who'd lived in their village for longer than his parents had been alive. A respected member of the community, grey hair rounding about his skull in a thin line, a mustache always kept neatly trimmed, and the kind hazel eyes of a grandfather to everyone he met. "What are you doin' out here?"

He shrugged casually, looking around at all the bugs dancing around them. "They're something special, aren't they?"

Karen finally came from her hiding spot behind Kenny, looking around with him. "They are," she agreed. "Are you catching them, too?"

He shook his head, "Nah. Haven't done that for years," he said with a sigh, sitting down on a large rock nearby as the kids edged closer towards him. He stared off into the woods, shaking his head in wonderment. "I used to come here to catch 'em when I was your age," he nodded towards Kenny. "Me and my momma. Once a week every week, right after Sunday dinner."

Kenny cocked his head, "But it's Tuesday."

He chuckled, "So it is. Come out here every night now, though. Just to watch, just to see what happens."

"Whaddya mean 'what happens'?" he blinked. "Whaddya think will happen?"

Mr. Meryl smirked to himself, "Depends. You kids good at keepin' secrets?"

They glanced at each other before nodding vigorously. "We're great at it," Karen insisted.

He leaned down, resting his elbows on his knees and looking back into the woods. "Well, sit down and I'll tell ya what I saw when I was 'bout ten years old." They plopped onto the dirt obediently, letting the cloth of their jars loosely hang over top of them, fireflies trying to lift the heavy material and make their great escapes. Mr. Meryl smacked his lips, "Tell me, do you two know about _fairies_?"

Karen cocked her head curiously but Kenny stared at him wryly. "What? The people with wings?" Karen perked up at the prospect, looking between the both of them for one to continue. Kenny could only vaguely remember hearing a folk song of them when he was five years old and his mother had taken him out to a street show passing through town. He remembered well enough how the man strung his lyre and how a pretty, tall woman with flowing chestnut hair danced down the street, thick skirt flowing across the ground with no resistance. The song sang of a winged man and a winged girl as they flew into the moon on the second verse, meeting as the only two of their kind and wanting to remain as such. The name had struck an odd chord within him, ' _The Fairies of Salanda'_. Such strange words concocted together that they had stuck with him for all these years even as his vocabulary expanded and the terms never came up in conversation again.

The old man nodded, "Mhm. Now, I can't say for sure it was a fairy, may have been somethin' else entirely. But it wasn't any bug, and it wasn't any bird. Little person, just like you or me, but only as tall as your jars," he nodded down, the kids following his gaze for the scale.

Karen looked back at him, little mind overflowing with the possibilities of what these tiny people could do. "How do you know it was a fairy?"

He smiled fondly, "She glowed purple. Had long, blonde hair," he pointed to Kenny's scalp. "Flew with the fireflies," he gestured to the swarms surrounding them, an addition to his audience and one he was happy to welcome. "Had clear little wings, fast as could be."

Kenny eyed him skeptically, "Are you sure?"

"Sure as my beating heart," he placed his hand over his ribcage. "I tried to catch her, wandered out into the woods, though it was smaller back then," he recalled, remembering the scattering of saplings surrounding him, now all replaced with the thick trunks far sparser in his youth. "Mama called for me but I told her I was safe, to just hang on for a bit and wait for me. I chased her down into the woods, finally caught up to her when she flew against a rock and I cornered her in…" his eyes glimmered over sadly in the flickering light. "She was so scared," he reminisced, seeing that pure panic on a head barely bigger than the pad of his thumb. Eyes too small to distinguish color were wide, a tiny mouth was open with panicked gasps. "I told her I wasn't gonna hurt her," he said quietly. "But I did."

Karen's face dropped into devastation. "Why?!" she cried out.

"Well I didn't _mean to_ , Kid," he defended, though decades-old guilt still lingered in his tone. "My momma made jewelry for all the rich folk that used to pass through," he jerked his head back towards town. "Had me wear a little chain bracelet and a ring to show off to potential buyers," he shrugged. "I reached under her to put her in my hand, little bare feet touched my ring and down she went," he shuddered visibly. "Little face landed right on my bracelet and… that was it."

Kenny blinked, completely enthralled in the tale being spun. "It? Whaddya mean that was it? What happened to her?"

"Melted," he said simply, looking at the damning hand that held a seeping creature screaming in agony, evanescing into a puddle of flesh and blood like candle wax. Just as slow, just as _burning_. "I tried to get her off of me… but she was stuck to the bracelet. Had to just watch her, try to comfort her while she screamed her tiny little heart out," he winced.

Karen huddled closer to Kenny, grabbing his sleeve for comfort, eyes wide with horror. "Why'd she melt?" she whispered.

"Metal," he shrugged. "Didn't know till I went home, feelin' guilty as sin, and saw the burn marks on my jewelry. Never wore the stuff again, took pocket money from my job helping my teacher paint and gave it to my momma, told her I sold it. Went back to the woods to bury it next to where I buried the little fairy… Well… What was left of her anyway," he said heavily with a sigh. "Been comin' out ever since, hopin' I can see another one, tell 'em how sorry I am for what happened. Tell you what, Kids, I don't regret much of my life, but taking someone else's life, even though to anyone you'd ask here they'd say they ain't even real… You never forget it."

Kenny stared at him pitiably, "You didn't mean to, though."

"Doesn't change what happened," he chuckled humorlessly. He gently raised a hand, brushing a group of bugs from out of his face with a genial touch. "But that's something you just don't forget. If it wasn't for the jewelry, I might've figured I dreamed it all but it was still there a week later before I buried it, just to be sure." The kids nodded in understanding as he let his old, strained eyes focus in and out towards the woods lingering in the distance. "I just keep hopin'," he murmured.

"You never saw another one?" Karen prodded sadly.

He shook his head, "No. Learned a lot though. Stories travel far, even to towns like ours," he gestured back towards home. "But went out a few times for jobs, swung by where I could gettin' any kind of story."

Kenny twisted his mouth, "Nobody asked ya 'bout it?"

Smiling mischievously, he rolled his shoulder in a dismissive shrug. "Told 'em I had a daughter who loved the stories, much easier for people to accept than an old man hangin' on to their words for himself," he laughed quietly.

"Then why'd ya tell us?" the boy asked, voice a hushed, saddened murmur at the prospect of poor, kind Mr. Meryl being ostracized for the experience of his youth.

"Because there's only one group of people that'll listen t' these stories," he nodded at them with a grin. "Only kids can get it. Adults will tell the stories, sure, but they don't _believe_ in 'em. And other kids in this town? They grow up too fast. They try t' get themselves up and workin' with their daddies quick as can be, faster than a bean sprout. How many other kids do you know that come catch fireflies?"

The kids shifted embarrassedly, Kenny looking down at his glowing jar in shame. "We do when we run outta candles for the night. 'Fore Pops can afford to get us s'more."

Mr. Meryl looked at them sympathetically, knowing well enough how very much the McCormick family seemed to struggle on a daily basis, making the tough choices between fresh milk or bread, having to add onto their childhood clothing to accommodate growth spurts with mismatched fabric. Nodding solemnly, he heaved a sigh, "Well, then you're growin' up right. Ya get to be kids and adults at the same time, somethin' not many get the choice of." They smiled meekly and he smirked. "Don't be growin' up too fast," he advised. "Not too many happy grown-ups 'round here, is there?"

Kenny thought to his parents constant arguing, the way that the townspeople gossiped about their neighbors thinking all the kids were out of earshot. He thought of the way adults would leave stores and stands muttering of how their neighbors were cheating them, how the values of old were lost in the sweeping tide of progression. Mr. Meryl definitely had a point.

The old man watched as the two of them leaned against one another, both seeming lost as they considered his words and wished desperately for them to not sing of truth. He glanced down to his satchel over his hip and smiled charitably, reaching into the cloth and pulling out a small, leather-bound journal, handing it down and holding it in front of Kenny's discouraged face. The blonde blinked at the form in front of him, glancing up the man's arm at his amiable expression before grasping the book and bringing it down in front of him. In the dipping and bobbing lights still floating around them, he could make the clear rise of a customized design on the book, running his fingers curiously over four long, slender teardrop shapes spanning from the center, surrounded by two swooping vines of ivy crawling up the length on either side.

"What is this?" Kenny murmured, opening the book and flipping through the pages delicately, unable to read in the dimmed light, but able to make out bold, dark strokes of sketches and calligraphy.

"Been writing in it for years," he explained. "Just somethin' to preoccupy my time. Wrote down all of what I heard from travelin'. Seein' how stories lined up and whatnot."

Kenny continued flipping through, eyes gleaming over in interest and mouth gaping in just the slightest at all the scrawled information fit into the space in neat margins. "It's so pretty," Karen murmured, raising onto her knees to see better as she peered around Kenny's arm, holding onto him for balance as they both stared at the journal.

Mr. Meryl shone with a flattered smile, joyed to see the two of them taking an interest where so few others had done more than called him a liar and laughed, forcing him to half-heartedly join them in the 'joke'. But these two saw more; More than just a tall-tale, more than just what options life had handed them thus far. It was a thrilling change of pace to say the least, on both ends.

From across the field back towards the village, a worried woman's tone carried into the night, _"Kenny! Karen! Where are ya?"_

Kenny jerked up into attention at the noise, giving a simple shout back, "We're comin', Ma!" When no other noise sprung from over the reeds, he was safe to assume she heard him, letting out a long sigh and glancing up at Mr. Meryl still watching them. "Sorry, Mr. Meryl," he mumbled, getting to his feet and helping Karen up with him, the girl grabbing their jars and their separate strands of twine to twist back around the brims. Kenny held his book back towards him, the man shaking his head.

"Nah, Kenny. You keep it."

The blonde blinked in utter confusion. "But… but _you_ wrote it."

"Exactly," he nodded sharply. "So I know everything that's in it. You hold on to it. A gift for listenin' to an old man tellin' a silly story."

He frowned, "I don't think it's silly."

"Me neither!" Karen declared firmly, moving to carefully set the jars back into Kenny's satchel and let it fall lightly against his side with a tiny _clink_.

The man smiled, "Well, I'm glad ya don't think so. Some that's in there might seem a bit on the silly side though," he winked. "Now you two get home 'fore your momma worries half to death."

Kenny hesitated before catching the firmness of his stare and sighing quietly, slipping the book into his bag and helping Karen climb back onto his back, wincing as he adjusted to the added weight once again. "Thank you," he said politely.

"Thanks," Karen echoed sweetly. He smiled and nodded, waving them off as they ventured back into the fields, both of them glancing back behind them to watch as he faded behind countless stems in their view as he turned back to watch the fireflies dance.

* * *

Walking through the other end of the grass, Kenny let out a long sigh, tired from the events of the night and the prospect of what he was going to have to do to help his mother in the morning with the daily chores. He and Karen had remained silent all their walk back, both of their imaginative minds racing with the conversation prior. Lingering doubt spread across their visions, but that spark of hope didn't seem to want to be doused. Something about Mr. Meryl's tone, something about the way his voice peaked with enthusiasm and deep-seated regret spoke volumes above all the stories they'd heard that any kind of magic was nothing more than a tall tale. Maybe he was lying, they couldn't be sure. But compared to the humdrum activities of their lives, compared to watching their family survive on the barest threads of compassion, it was something nice and exciting and a thrill to envision.

They took off their shoes at the rickety awning hovering above their door, shoddily made by their own father to silence his wife's incessant displeasure with muddy boots being dragged into her home. They tromped inside, seeing their parents sitting in the main room in wooden chairs atop flattened homemade cushions, worn from years of use and countless repairs. Their father glanced up at them from taking a knife to wood, listlessly carving an owl into the surface. A hobby he'd picked up at the insistence of their mother who didn't want him at the alehouse at all hours of the night. He grunted in acknowledgement before turning back to his whittling.

Their mother glanced up, bright red hair teeming with darkness in the fading candlelight, shooting them a scolding gaze from behind her embroidery set. "Where have you two been?" she demanded. "I was worried sick!"

"Sorry, Ma," Kenny replied guiltily, reaching into his bag and pulling out his jar of nine fireflies, setting it beside her. "Not as many out as usual."

She sighed, putting down her cloth and genially stroking through his dirtied hair. "Well, ya made it back, that's what matters. Go on to bed."

Karen stared between her and him, Kenny giving her the look to keep herself quiet and she nodded in understanding. "Night, Momma," she walked up and hugged her leg, Carol sweeping down and planting a soft kiss in her tangled hair.

"Night, Babies," she waved them off as they headed towards the back corner of the house, neither bothering to bid their father a good night as they wandered into their room. They both glanced towards the bed in the far right corner, hearing Kevin's deep breathing and shrugging to each other, knowing he was out like a light with how their father worked him in the fields.

Karen glanced between the two and Kenny smirked, "C'mon, you can sleep in my bed," he gestured, both of them making way towards Kenny's side across the room from the other two beds, straight across from Kevin's. They clambered up onto the thin and torn mattress, Kenny handing her the jar of her own five fireflies to set on a simple table beside the furniture. Ken pulled out the leather-bound journal, turning it curiously in his hand.

Karen stared for a bit, moving his satchel down onto the floor. "Do you think it's true?" she whispered finally, asking the question they'd wanted to prod the other with their entire trip home.

Kenny bit his lip, unsure of how to answer. "I'm… not sure," he finally drawled. "But… I want it to be. Be nice to know there's more t' find out there, ya know?"

She nodded in agreement. "I think it's true," she said confidently. "I don't think Mr. Meryl would lie."

"I don't know, he told Cartman that his art was nice," Kenny smirked, getting a tiny giggle out of the girl. He flipped open to a random page, tilting the book just slightly so the minimal light of Karen's captives reached the parchment. He hummed in thought, flipping through until Karen stopped him, pointing to a picture.

"What is that?" she said, voice hushed and mindful of their slumbering sibling.

Kenny squinted in the darkness, seeing indistinguishable blobs drawn out into a circle. He glanced around the page, the words 'mushroom' and 'ring' both barely catching his eye. "Not sure," he answered, shaking his head and closing the book. "We'll check it out tomorrow when there's light." She nodded in agreement and he shoved the journal down under his pillow, mussed with hair oil and almost a decade of usage. They both slid under the thin linen blanket, sighing tiredly from their adventures.

Kenny's eyes began to droop brought back up only a tad as Karen's tiny voice reentered the air. "I hope they are real," she whispered almost inaudibly, huddling closer to Kenny's body heat.

The blonde creaked his eyes back open, seeing Karen facing away from him. His eyes flickered up and around the dilapidated shack of a house, hearing his parents arguing mindlessly in the other room, feeling cold air drifting in from the poorly constructed windows. He sighed, wrapping his arm around her and squeezing her lightly, trying to shield her from the brutality of their parents' raising voices. He leaned up closer, shoving more blanket over her and nodding softly. "If they are, I'll find 'em," he promised sleepily. "Just for you." Karen smiled, rolling her eyes a bit at his vow but snuggling back against him nonetheless. The world continued to move on as they drifted off into sleep, the fighting and the misery fading into the background as they found themselves both in an endless field of ethereal, multicolored lights.


	2. The Fabric of Stability

What had drawn him to the cloth, he could never exactly say. Maybe it was the way that he was able to take plain squares of fabric and transform it into any creation he so desired. Maybe it was watching peoples' faces light up when he handed them his designs, or when he managed to fix that hole scraped into their best pair of pants. Though, he knew well enough the initial idea of being confined to a singular room surrounded by material, prodding himself with a needle time and again was not one that came happily. No, it came from a father's coarse demands that he flitter on up to the only open apprenticeship in town when he was the tender age of fourteen.

Not that Kenny particularly minded being able to escape the job he and his brother and father all bore at the time; Digging trenches for crops was certainly no one's dream, especially when dealing with the brash nature of both boss and father simultaneously. A part of him had been nothing short of gleeful when he was informed that he was escaping the constant yelling, the burning of the sun beating on the back of his neck. No longer would he have to endure the blisters ravaging his palms from splintering spades, no more would he be trudging off to the cobbler and paying any of the meager earnings he managed to get from his parents to repair worn soles every few months.

No, now his wounds were the result of his own inherent clumsiness, not backbreaking labor. Now instead he was riddled with pinpricks and minor slices of the sides of his fingers from shearers edging just a little too closely. Strained eyes occasionally led him to headaches throughout the day as he stared unwavering at a piece of linen for too long, but Karen's home-brewed tealeaves always seemed to remedy the problem faster than he could complain of it.

It'd been a rough going at the start, his father grabbing him by the scruff of the neck and pushing him through town before the sun had cracked over the horizon, fighting valiantly against the navy hue splattered above. Still wracked with the pains of the workday prior, sclera of his eyes popping with red capillaries strewn about as he battled to keep them pried open, having grown used to getting one more hour of rest in, he was dragged up to Mr. Levick for the first time.

Kenny could just barely remember the conversation taking place, too busy at the time still trying to rid the sleep from his eyes and keep his yawning to a minimum. Stuart had known Levick for a good while, telling Kenny only later on of their tendency to chat while at the alehouse. When Levick informed him that his apprentice had been struck with fever and was on his last leg, his father was on it in an instant even in his drunken stupor. If one thing spoke louder to Stuart than the ale, it was the opportunity to snag some extra income to further satisfy the habit. Unskilled trenchers only brought home a measly four copper tempets. But someone who was practiced, who was even just _apprenticing_ to master a craft could bring home a good three silver and copper lined drestils. And Stuart was well aware that Mr. Levick himself sat on his business taking home a daily profit of nearly two golden haithins. So for the first time, Kenny heard the ramblings of his father for once exemplifying him as a hard worker, something that his mother called him daily but words that never crossed through a barley-stained mouth in all his years laboring in the fields.

Before Kenny knew it, he was seated on a stool next to the old tailor as he patiently explained that his last apprentice was of a mere ten years of age and caught on quick as a flame to a wick, so he needed to match that pace to keep this position. After all, as Levick had told him nearly a year later, he only accepted him in the first place because he didn't want Stuart spoiling his time of relaxation with incessant whining. But Kenny had proven quick with his hands with a tongue smooth as silk dealing with customers, something that Levick himself lacked after spending so long hiding behind his sociable wife while she still lived and he continued to make ends meet. But Kenny had spent the last four years in the fields with a group of other men and boys, developing a rapport and casual nature that could not be taught. And so within months, as he was learning how to hem and boiling marking material with axel grease, oil, and vinegar, he was all the while becoming the face of his business. A bright, glimmering smile and brimming blue eyes that would draw anybody in as though the sea itself was beckoning them forth greeted them. Kenny had learned the balance of nonchalance and politeness, as well as the marvel of the upsell, much as he loathed the notion.

" _We can't survive cutting it even, Kenny,"_ Mr. Levick had told him as he'd entered his sixteenth year, now growing a better grasp of the economic struggle plaguing their small village. _"I know you don't like to push them, but you have to do what you have to sometimes."_ The boy had known that he was right and that Mr. Levick hated it as much as he did, one of the many things that they bonded over and discussed time and again, but still it had to be done. He'd offer only what he considered 'essential' upsells; Stronger hems and thicker patches. More often than not, he'd grab the sale and get an extra three or four tempets for the shop.

But while he excelled at bargaining with customers, he'd found, much to his own surprise, he was more than adept at crafting from cloth as well. It was something that relaxed him, something that took his mind off the daily struggles of home and placed him into a cozy space all his own filled with the subtle scent of heavy wool and breezy linen. More often than not, Levick left the more simplistic patterns to Kenny's devices, only occasionally stepping from his own table to observe and suggest a quicker method of stitching. Kenny was more than happy with the circumstance, losing himself in the folds of fabric and emerging with a sense of accomplishment he never garnered from finishing tilling the soil. After all, he was never the one who planted the seeds and fed the people, but here? Here, he was the one who clothed them, who kept them warm. He was someone that people would recognize on the street as he ran errands and would stop him, _compliment_ him on a job well done on their tattered tunic sleeves. He was doing a service, and one that was appreciated. Sure, he dealt with more than his fair share of friends teasing him for 'women's work', but he was always the first one they came to when they fell to the hardened dirt and tore a pant leg.

As the years waned on, Mr. Levick's hands began to wither and shake, threading a needle becoming Kenny's task for him while the man could still make his stitches. But Kenny watched helplessly as the man he'd considered more his father than his own flesh and blood began to shrivel and cough, complained of aches that he could never shed. With all his practice at mending disrepair, there was nothing to be done that could patch a weakening spirit, no formulated lye to cleanse him of his pains and ailments. There was only time, and time faded more than just the dyes of cotton. Mr. Levick didn't seem to mind the situation as Kenny did, merely shrugging and reminding him that all people have to go whenever he'd catch the blonde staring at him in distress. He'd had a wonderful life, he'd told him time and again. Keeping himself well-fed, married to a wonderful woman and staying in love even after his wife was gone nearly forty years later, owning his own business. Kenny had asked him timidly if there was anything he wish he'd done differently, the man just smiling and shaking his head. He told him that he was more than ready for what was to come, that he had lived as he'd wanted. He'd done some wonderful things, met some people he treasured as his own family even when bereft of any kin.

In the fall of Kenny's twenty-fourth year, he came into the shop from boiling his marker solution to find the man slumped on his table, face content as the day he'd met him. Never before had Kenny cried like he did that day; Not when he'd broken his arm falling from a tree, not when his father had pushed him over in frustration into the wall. Nothing could ever have hurt him as much as losing someone so treasured to him, and someone that treated him like more than just their money-making lackey.

Kenny closed the shop for two days, sitting at home slumped on his bed staring at the floor in misery. Karen and Kevin did what they could to cheer him up, making no headway so just sitting and holding him in the way that only siblings could do. On the third, he was called to assist with the burial, barely containing himself as they lowered a thick oaken box into the earth, Kenny watching each scoop of dirt tossed back atop him like a countdown, leading him closer to the thick of reality that he was really gone. Not until Karen grabbed his hand and pulled him away did he move, head hanging as he walked back into town with her comforting words and spending the rest of the night in bed.

However, the next morning came with shock news from Levick's house of worship. A man dressed in fine cloth that the perished tailor himself designed came beckoning Kenny to the front of the house, meeting the disheveled young man with a pitiable stare. But from his words and a paper in his hand came Kenny's future, Carol and Karen lingering in the background stunned and overwhelmingly excited. No kin meant that Mr. Levick had no heirs, and so, _Kenny_ was named his heir. The tailor's shop was his, so long as the remaining residuals that Levick had brought in were divvied evenly between his andell for all his years of worship and Kenny getting himself some rich, heavy food, because the man always thought he was far too skinny. The blonde had been in shock, finding himself crying again from both the harsh truth of what had given him this opportunity, and the pure _blessing_ to know that Mr. Levick considered him as much family as Kenny did him.

Nearly a year ago, Kenny had reopened the shop now in his name, customers trickling in at first with the weary knowledge that the previous owner had died within it. But, the notion gave Kenny some degree of comfort, morbid as it seemed. His presence was always there, always telling him to space his stitches closer to keep the seam tight. Soon enough, business was as it was, people taking to the blonde being the head with little conflict, knowing from what hands his talents were honed.

And now, Kenny sat in his regular stool at Levick's old table, pinching together two thick scraps of linen, cursing to himself as the needle refused to catch the one thread it needed to connect the pieces. His elbows bore red markings from weighing himself onto the elm surface to keep his arms steady as he tried to piece together his tunic order.

From across the room at his old station sat his mother and Karen, airily chatting as bright, colorful spools of thread crossed between their fingers, heading towards un-seamed sleeves captured in stretchers and pulled taut. From dark fabric of maroon, they speckled the cuffs with simple crosses, beaming brightly with the golden thread dyed of onion peels and marigolds.

Kenny finally caught his thread, tongue previously poking out in concentration receding as a thankful sigh left him and he easily continued down the seamline, still warm with the heat from his metal iron on the other side of his table.

"Kenny, how many shirts do ya want with this?" Karen asked, not taking her eyes from her work as she tried to keep in pace with her mother's adept embroidering skills.

"Uh, that one and there's three others like it behind you," he said. "Then I got dress sleeves that need the same."

Carol chuckled, "Big family, huh?"

He smirked, "Yeah, the Lancasters are travellin' out to the city. Albert wanted 'em 'dressed in somethin' proper'."

Karen snorted, "What, they think they're gonna meet a king in the city?"

He shrugged, "Better to look like you're meetin' a king than you're rollin' around in dirt. I think they're goin' t' sell some of Geraldine's little dolls she makes."

His mother let out a visible shudder. "Good. Get them dolls out of here, I hate passin' by her stand and seein' 'em stare at me." Kenny and Karen both laughed, nodding in agreement. Frankly, the dolls were creepy and Kenny refused to let her have her stand outside their shop, making the claim that 'it's just bad for business to have yarn bein' sold outside a tailor's, they may not realize our fabric is for clothing, not dolls'. It'd convinced her well enough, thanking him kindly for pointing her towards 'better' suited locale, but Kenny just did not want knitted monstrosities staring at him through his window. Dead wooden button eyes and no mouths, heads that flopped listlessly and limbs oddly-shaped made from shoddily dyed wool made for some real sights to behold. But Kenny did understand to an extent, at least one was sold a week for a profit of two tempets, and it helped keep some food on their table as Albert struggled to keep his job herding the cattle from a sharp pain in his left foot that wouldn't dissipate.

Kenny sighed to himself as Karen and Carol went back to their previous discussion, flipping his head to get rustled bangs out of his eyes. The preciseness of his stitches stayed in form as a familiar weariness and a dreamy haze settled over him. That just seemed to be the tale of the times: things were hard for everyone. He was lucky, finding himself in a business that never went out of style, thankfully common decency was still vital. But he was watching throughout the days as various families lost jobs and livestock, more and more people on the streets asking for a mere tempet to take a step closer to affording some day-old bread.

Kenny himself? He wasn't much better off. Raising inflation and taxes had hit him pretty hard over the last year, managing to keep it together by training himself in more elaborate patterns, convincing maidens to stop by the shop when weddings were to roll around. After all, he claimed, why go to the city when he could make their dream gown a reality for a fraction of their prices? He'd lucked out in that department, using his silver tongue to talk them down from overpriced dreams of grandeur, much to their fiances' relief. A saving grace in the form of a snowstorm from the previous year after Levick's passing lead to a lot of pregnancies due in the fall, which called for a lot more infant-wear and swaddling cloths. They sat on backorder as the town found itself in the depths of spring, creeping ever-closer to the sweltering heat of mountain sun in the next few weeks and Kenny focused on the much more urgent clothing orders, calling for lighter fabrics to keep the fieldworkers fresh with air.

A small cramp hit between his thumb and index finger, the needle slipping from his grasp and landing softly onto the linen. He scoffed, rolling his eyes and trying to shake out the twinge, eyes listlessly wandering towards the window pane. He stared at the woods off in the distance past the field of reeds, another sigh slipping through him. He missed going out into the woods all the time like he did before work began when he was ten. A part of him always wandered back to dear old Mr. Meryl and his story whenever he gazed that way, something about it so deeply engrained in him he wondered if he'd ever shed it. When Mr. Meryl had passed as Kenny crossed into the age of fifteen, he and Karen had wandered to his funeral, that old leather-bound book in Kenny's satchel once again. He wanted to toss it into the dirt with him, let the story be buried with the man who'd so expertly crafted it. But something held Kenny back. Every intention he'd had disappeared as he watched shovelfuls pile back into the ground.

The book had gotten him and Karen both through some rough goings, flipping through it to escape whatever their parents were arguing about, letting Kevin in on a few of their readings and scowling at him as he flicked their heads and told them to grow up a little, that he couldn't be the only adult in the house. But they knew well enough that he was just teasing them, and he encouraged them to find something other than the shoddy house they dwelled in to find some comfort. He took to the ale, and they took to the tales. But Kenny as the years progressed and that book remained under his pillow, long after Karen had stopped asking him to read it, long after he'd memorized every single meticulously scripted line and drawing, found himself still drawn to the wonder. He couldn't quite pin it down, knowing that he should be far past the point of wanting to find such creatures. But something was still there; a vague hope that there was more than just a tiny village where he sat in a shop on the same stool every day for the rest of his life. Mr. Levick was comfortable living as such, but Kenny could never deny that he was just _restless_. Contentment was not happiness, not in his book. So the hopes remained, because dreaming of fairies was far better than dreaming of fabrics.

"You awake in there?" a deep voice teased and a flick hit his arm. He blinked, stopping the mindless shaking of his hand and glancing up to find Kevin looking down and smirking at him. "Ya need t' find some focus, Ken."

"On what? Your rotten face?" he returned the expression, smacking him lightly.

Kevin laughed, shifting a load of white fabrics in his arms. "Got yer grease boilin'," he jerked his head towards the backdoor of the shop. "Whatcha need with these guys?" he rustled the material a bit.

Kenny got to his feet, setting his work safely aside and motioning for him to lay the fabrics on his table as the blonde made way towards his front desk, reaching under and swiping a withering parchment book with a wood and cotton cover and flipping it open. He made his way back, all of them glancing up as Stuart walked in the front of the shop grumbling to himself.

"What's wrong, Stuart?" Carol asked warily.

"Nothin'," he bit. "Just hit my damn foot on a stand."

Kenny raised his brow, "Do you need to sit down, Pops?"

He shook his head, looking between him and the white cloth on the table. "This the next'n?"

"Mhm," he nodded, opening to his last entry of dye lots and smacking his lips, laying the book on the table and looking between it and the fabrics. "All right," he started, beginning to separate the linens and cottons into five mixed groups of four apiece. "I need one of the bunches bright red, one dark. One yellow, one light blue…" he squinted his eyes at his notes, "And one brown."

"How light blue we talkin'?" Kevin asked, starting to arrange the piles crisscrossed atop one another to keep them separate.

He bit his lip, glancing briefly at the section of previously dyed blues hanging from the wall and the missing swatches of light he needed. He looked up thoughtfully before smirking, "Light as Ma's gorgeous eyes," he said sweetly.

Carol snorted and shook her head, "Guess yer glad ya got those from me, huh?"

"My best feature," he purred, batting his lashes playfully. He whined as Kevin flicked him again, him and Stuart hauling up the fabrics in their arms.

"How much we need for that?" Stuart questioned.

Kenny looked up thoughtfully, "There's some woad still fresh enough under that rock out back. It's all we got but you may have to use at least a handful of it. Keep an eye, though," he warned. "Can't get it too dark, the woad ain't back for sale till next spring."

"We know that," Stuart snapped, Kenny recoiling a bit. "We ain't gonna waste your precious leaves."

"All right, all right," he held up his hands defensively. He reached under the table onto a small shelf and grabbed a tightly secured spool of white thread, tossing it atop Kevin's stash. "Make this one with the blue and…" he turned to the girls. "You two need any colors?"

"More gold if we got five outfits to work on," Karen shrugged. He nodded, grabbing another two spools and setting them alongside the first.

"Those two on their own for gold," he directed.

Kevin nodded dutifully, "You got it, Ken." Stuart just nodded with him, both of them turning and heading out back to kindle the started fires and try to get their small iron basins to boil. Kenny watched after them tiredly, rubbing his neck as he watched Stuart close the door behind him with his foot.

He hated having him here. Hated it with a _passion_. The other three he was more than elated to have onboard his team, getting the girls out of the house and Kevin out of the fields… But unfortunately when Stuart suggested the idea of a family business, he was included in the deal. _"It'll up yer production and getcha some more money,_ " he'd told him one night as they all sat around their dinner table. _"And we can keep it all in the family name."_

Kenny had _loathed_ the idea of _his_ business becoming part _Stuart's_ business. But he watched Karen and Carol's eyes watching him hopefully, Kevin's own wide and filled with prayer that Kenny would get him out of his laborious torment, and he had no choice but to accept. He'd made the condition clear, however, that the shop was his by right, and he had the final say in _all_ business decisions. The girls and Kevin had agreed wholeheartedly, excited with Kenny finally taking the reins over something when he'd spent so much of his life shoved into the middle with little to no say. Stuart had questioned his tone, that threatening vibrato echoing in their small kitchen, but Kenny reminding him that he was the only one who could keep it from running into the ground, the only one who could make his ale habits affordable, and the man had backed off begrudgingly.

It was a rough going to say the least at the start, Stuart trying to input his 'wisdom' into Kenny's work, telling him how he should face _away_ from the window because he was so easily distracted, how he should haggle for his fabrics as though he knew the complicated process Kenny had handled for eleven years from just stepping foot into the shop for the first time since he'd all but sold him to Mr. Levick. He refused to sew or take customer orders, and Kenny refused to give him the money to go pick up supplies from the merchant, knowing well enough where that money would more than likely end up. So Kenny had made the decision to make most of their fabrics hand-dyed in-shop. It was more tedious, but cheaper, and the smell of the plants overwhelmed the smell of boiling wagon axel grease with ease and made the experience more enjoyable for them and the customers. So Kevin and Stuart assumed the roles of the litsters, working behind the scenes and coming home with hands a different color nearly every day.

"M'kay, Ken, he's busyyyy," Karen's voice sang, the blonde looking to see Karen at his station in her stool with a smile on her face.

Kenny smirked, plopping down next to her with a sigh. "All right, we're makin' a tunic again," he said. "This time with linen, so it's a little different than the one from last week or whenever," he waved his hand aimlessly, grabbing his project from the corner of the table and dragging it in front of them. He held it up for her to see, "I started the seam already," he said, nodding for her to take it. "Use the same stitch from last time, and keep 'em close." She smiled, biting her lip with concentration as the needle slid between the fibers and out the other side, rounding up and catching a single thread to slip the thin iron through the loop and make a half-knot. She looked at Kenny for approval and he smiled with a nod.

"You two better be careful about that," Carol warned as she continued her embroidery. "Who knows what your father'll do if he sees ya."

"We've been doin' it for months," Kenny shrugged, continuing to watch Karen work her way down the seam. "'Sides, it ain't his choice who does what, it's mine."

She twisted her lips and looked at him with heavy, burdened eyes. "Hon, I know that. But he doesn't."

Kenny sighed, just giving another shrug and they both turned back to their tasks, choosing to let the truth just linger in the air, that unspoken promise that hovered above all their heads at all times. Karen desperately wanted to learn the true craft that Kenny had mastered, begging him all his years of apprenticing to teach her how to sew clothing. But materials weren't cheap, and he couldn't exactly ask Mr. Levick for samples when supply was always kept at a minimum. He'd promised her that one day he would, seeing the opportunity when she came into the shop. But instead, Stuart made the decision to sit her down beside her mother to start designs in embroidery. Kenny hated to admit it, but he could tie-off an entire outfit before the girls could finish one sleeve of clothing, their job much more detail-oriented and precise than his own for the most part. If they were going to start designs, they _needed_ two doing so at all times possible. But Karen was an expert at plucking Kenny's heartstrings, and wound up getting secret lessons kept out of Stuart's sight while he dyed materials out back.

Kenny could only guess that he and Karen both inherited the same trait as their mother, being quick to adapt to life with a needle. She'd helped him finish a handful of outfits over the past few months, each one crafted with loving care from the hands of an eager learner. It warmed Kenny's heart watching her finish her first pant leg, wondering if he'd looked as excited for Mr. Levick upon completing his first successful project.

The front door suddenly opened and Karen dropped the garment reflexively, Kenny ready to jump and yell in defense before a friendly face popped through the door. He sighed and sunk down in relief. "Clyde. It's only you."

"Well, I think I deserve a _little_ more than just that," Clyde teased, shutting the door behind him and stepping closer to their table. He cocked his head, "Whatcha makin', Karen?"

"A tunic," she proclaimed proudly. "Made with linen."

He nodded, "Nice." He turned to Kenny, brown eyes filled with sheepishness. "So… you got time for some patching?"

"Depends on how much we're talking about," Kenny cocked his brow, looking down as a charcoal-smeared apron was laid on his table.

"Just right here," Clyde pointed to a large sear mark in the fabric.

Kenny shook his head, " _Again_?"

The brunette frowned, crossing his arms. "Forges have fires, Asshole. Fire burns stuff."

"I'm just saying, Mr. _Feldon_ doesn't come in for repairs this much," he smirked.

"Well Mr. Feldon doesn't do the bitch work anymore, that's all for me," he said blandly, pointing at himself tiredly. "So can you fix it or not?"

He shrugged, rolling one shoulder, "Yeah I guess. Though, why don't you just order a new apron?" he questioned. "I've patched this thing up more than you've patched things up with Alice."

"Ha ha haaaaa," he drawled, rolling his eyes. "I don't have the money for a whole new one, I'm trying to save up," he shrugged. "So unless you've started a friend's discount, I can only take the patch."

Kenny twisted his lips, "Would if I could, Man. But I have too many friends in this town. I'd go bankrupt in about a week."

"You have four friends here, don't even _try_ to pretend you're popular," he smirked.

Kenny punched his arm and he whined, backing up and holding the wounded spot. "Yeah, and _you're_ half my clientele with your clumsy ass," he scoffed, picking up the apron and walking towards his walled fabrics, holding the apron up next to them for color comparison.

Clyde flipped him off listlessly, going to lean on the table and watching Karen working diligently. "You comin' out tonight?" he asked him casually.

"Uh… probably," Kenny muttered, snagging a piece of heavy black cotton from its hook and walking back towards the table to plop back down in his spot, snagging a spool of black thread from his shelf by his feet. "Not much else to do but drink."

He chuckled, nodding in agreement, "Ain't that the truth."

Kenny glanced over to see his mother staring at him before she sighed and went back to her work, Ken biting his lip guiltily. A common phrase around his house coming from Stuart, but it did ring with some truth. He went to work on measuring out his patch and snagging his sheers, glancing up at the window and out into the woods one last time before doing as expected, and settling right back into his routine.


	3. To One Day

The question was ever-present, and one that Kenny loathed that it plagued him so often as he made his way through the dirt streets of his village, lined with dying grass and pastel peonies limping on their stalks from the light rainfall thus far. It was a query that he imagined everyone stuck in their quiet little nest of the mountains came across: _Was this really it?_

Kenny couldn't imagine it being so, he'd heard stories from travelers of their adventures to distant cities, telling of a multitude of crafted buildings, a plethora of people, how even walking down the street was a chore with all the activity. Kenny grimaced as a rogue chicken ran across his path, clucking its little heart out before a strung-out woman with frizzy hair stumbled after it. He watched her nearly trip and turned on his heel, taking long strides towards the runaway. He ducked down and scooped under the bird, hoisting her up in his arms and standing to face the panting woman as she smiled gratefully. "Thank you," she said kindly, Kenny smiling and handing her back her poultry. "Little troublemaker pecked right through the coop," she laughed.

He snorted, "Well it ain't much of a life just sittin' 'round layin' eggs, I'd guess."

She shrugged, hushing at the chicken's clucks and looking at Kenny again with tired hazel eyes. "We all gotta serve a purpose," she said casually. "Thanks again."

"No problem," he nodded, watching her as she turned and weaved her way back between buildings out towards the northern fields of the town. Kenny sighed, scratching through his hair listlessly and continuing back on his path. Serve a purpose? Maybe. But there had to be purpose he could have somewhere else, not confined into his little fabric shop, spending his days balancing his tumultuous family and needy customers. Even taking his business somewhere _besides_ here could be his purpose for all he knew. After all, this town was all he'd ever known, and he fancied listening to travelers spinning their tales as they made way back home and plopped down in the alehouse to unwind. It was hard to picture just what it was that people had seen, only able to mentally increase his own town's population and make their buildings just a tad bit less run-down.

But there was a flipside, he'd been warned with other listeners: Their kind wasn't _meant_ for that kind of life. No neighbor was going to give you a helping of crops if your family fell into hard times. No one was going to go out of their way to help you rebuild your roof when a tree collapsed from a nasty storm. No one would even go so far as to catch that runaway chicken, far too busy living their own lifestyles to take the time to lend a hand. Given, that flack had its own criticism from other wanderers, claiming that they'd just went to an awful place to be, that some cities were kinder than their own homegrown charms.

In all honesty, Kenny didn't care. They could be the sweetest bunch of people walking around like the ethereal glow of the sun or they could shove him down and use him as a rug and he would take it either way or somewhere in-between. Because it wasn't _here._ Was there a certain degree of affection he held for his neighbors knowing him by name and valuing him as a member of their community? Sure, he'd never deny that. But there was only so much that simple mediocrity could overshadow of his confinement. His village was a net; he could so clearly see that there was more than what he was in, but getting there was damn near impossible.

It was disheartening and tiring to say the very least.

He glanced over at the sound of laughter, smiling crookedly at a group of young kids hauling a cart of mismatched toys over the road and onto the grass. A boy, the oldest by the looks of it, reached his hands into the pine and dug around, various items clacking together in muffled sounds. He grinned, pulling out a sloppily stitched leather ball the size of his fist, rolling it around in his fingers, the soft dirt inside giving way to the pressure, and beckoning the others to follow him further into the green. Kenny watched the five of them standing in a large circle, gently lobbing their hands upwards to let the toy soar through the air to another of them.

The blonde shook his head in amusement, remembering himself and his own group of friends playing the same way. He remembered quite vividly how many bruised eyes had come of that game as well, usually a direct result of one of them hitting the edge of their short temper. If living in this clustered village had taught Kenny anything throughout the years, it was that it didn't exactly breed the type of never-ending patience that the lessons of Tavin declared to be so important. Kindness was abounding, but self-control was always pulled taut and ready to snap should something go awry. Kenny could only figure that it was what led to his father's habits, he being within the fourth generation of their family to stay forever bound to the town.

Though, according to his mother, Stuart wasn't always like this. She told the kids that he was just like Kenny when he was younger, something that horrified the blonde to no end, seeing a future of himself stumbling into the house at all hours of the night and screaming at whoever was in his path. Carol had recalled it almost dreamily, how they'd talked for years of getting out into the big, open world. How when she'd become pregnant with Kevin, those dreams weren't halted, just delayed. But that delay lasted long enough for Kenny to be born, and they watched their aspirations going up in smoke. What she didn't say spoke volumes to the three kids, that Stuart blamed _them_ for his dreams going astray. Not as though they could change that, and now he'd be so lost without an ale in his hand, it was doubtful that they could make the journey towards another town, even if they _could_ afford it.

But poor towns don't breed rich folk, the only ones with any semblance of more than ten haithins to their name at a time were passer-bys who happened to fall for the village of Canirem's quirks and decided to settle. Only a handful of citizens fell into this category, and Kenny couldn't help but wonder what it was that made the area so appealing. Perhaps it was just a need to escape hustle and bustle. But, deep down, a part of him had always suspected a bit more of an egotistical agenda. After all, just because they were rich _here_ didn't mean that they were in other towns. Perhaps they were the lower rungs of poverty just as Kenny was wherever they wandered in from, but here, they were considered high class. They were the untouchables, the ones that people went _far_ out of their way for on the off chance of procuring a particularly high favor. Kenny was in high standing with one of the handful of people scattered within the town in that ranking, but even then he'd never questioned them for anything more than he'd ask the companions down on his level.

He didn't want to come off as too much like his father, after all.

The blonde sighed, turning the corner onto the main drag and glancing at the cob buildings as he passed them by. Tiny shops much like his own lead the way, each with their own carefully engraved wooden signs, beaten asunder by the elements and the hand of time. Not much had changed in his 25 years, nothing but businesses being passed off to others and a few cases of shifting brands. Not too much excitement to say the least.

He came to a stop outside the store he so _loathed_ to frequent, but swallowed his pride; Reminding himself as he had for the last four years that this was an absolute necessity, regardless of his standing with the shop keeper. A deep breath rushed through his throat, followed by another before he pressed against the shoddy wooden door, wincing as the iron hinges scraped against gathered rust. He poked his head inside, seeing a boy of nearly fifteen scurrying about, trying to organize inventory.

The boy glanced back at the sound, blinking at the intrusion before smiling. "Hello, Kenny!" he greeted cheerfully.

Kenny spared him a smile. At least _he_ wasn't Ken's problem with the shop. He allowed himself to finally cross the threshold and gently close the door behind him. "Hey there, Will. Fatboy around?"

"Mr. Cartman's in the back," he informed him, wincing at Kenny's casual insult. He wasn't exactly _fond_ of his boss berating him for things that Kenny would say, and unfortunately, with the tailor's constant visits, it was a little all-too-common. "Hang on just a moment," he requested, turning on his heel and heading through another door at the back of the building.

Kenny crossed his arms and sighed, eyes drooping in boredom as he glanced around the merchant's shop, eyeing different items of all varieties strewn about in organized chaos. It was always much sparser before Cartman had come into possession of the ownership at age twenty, stocked with only what was deemed necessary for people to procure. But now? Now everything from bakery leftovers to half-broken knickknacks filled the shelves to the brim. Kenny stepped over towards a carefully crafted metal figure of Tavin, gracefully picking it up and tilting to stare at the base, smirking at a carefully inscribed C.D. etched into the charcoal coloring. No doubt one of Clyde's from his side-hobby that Feldon allowed when there were bits of scrap left around the smithy. Somehow Clyde had convinced him that it helped hone his skill at minute details, not bothering to mention that it _actually_ had much to do with a certain on-again, off-again girlfriend of his looking at artists with palpable yearning.

He tipped the sculpture back upright, fingers tracing over the figuring with quiet admiration. This one was much more stable than his family's, always sitting at the helm of their door as was tradition; "For Him to greet us into our home and bless us as we venture out," his mother had told him. Years had worn the wooden statue down and faded the paint, an accidental crash from Karen's toddling days had chipped the base and made it wobble far beyond what would be considered _proper_ considering just who He was. But there He stood regardless, forever opened amethyst eyes watching over the lot of them. Kenny had always questioned the eye color, being informed time and again by his mother and the head of their andell that it was to always separate Himself from the common man, so one who looked upon Him would know in an instant who it was they were in the presence of. Kenny twisted his lips, tilting his head a bit at the metal figure. His eyes weren't purple here, a pure dark shade just as the rest of him, but he knew just who he was looking at. An everlasting element in his life, something just as typical as the path to the merchant's.

"If you're not gonna buy it, put it down," a voice bellowed, Kenny's spine stiffening right off in annoyance.

He turned to see Eric Cartman leaning against the front desk with his arms crossed, a thick brow hiked superiorly. "Not like I can break it," he muttered, placing it back onto its spot and glancing at the price, face scrunching. "Who's gonna buy this thing for three drestil?"

"Not very nice to poor Clyde," Cartman smirked.

"Look, he's good, but not _that_ good," he scoffed, turning on his heel and facing the man walking over to stand beside him and lean next to him. "Need my order," he informed him dryly.

"No, really?" he mocked. "I thought you just wanted to drop on by and say hello to me." He stepped away and back behind the counter, struggling a bit to bend down and sort through the recently delivered orders. Kenny watched him and shook his head. The brunette was a grown man's finger length shorter than himself, but a stocky build derived from a gluttonous appetite certainly made him _seem_ much larger compared to Kenny's poorly fed lithe frame. Kenny leaned onto the counter, crossing his arms beneath him and watching him sort.

"Anyone ever buy one of Clyde's things?"

Cartman snorted, shaking his head. "Noooope. Who wants shoddy metal pieces of shit?"

His face contorted in distaste, "You _realize_ that's a statue of Tavin I was holding, right?"

"Just because it's Tavin doesn't mean it's a _well-made_ Tavin," he shrugged.

Blue eyes rolled dramatically, "More respectable to make a 'shoddy' god statue than to charge three drestils for something you claim to be inferior," he reminded him dryly.

"Not my fault taxes are so high," he said innocently, finally finding his crate and pulling it out of place. "Have to pay not only Clyde but my shop and my seller's tax."

"Your seller's tax is a _pittance_ ," he spat. "Token does your accounts, Fatboy, I know how much a season you spend on that tax of yours."

Cartman scoffed, "Just because _you_ have the luxury of not having to pay it doesn't mean it's _nothing_ , Po'Boy!"

"Ugh," he groaned, rubbing his temple. He just _had_ to antagonize him. Couldn't just get his shit and get out. He knew so much better than this, but he supposed there was no stopping it at this point less it be brought up again at the alehouse when Cartman followed him back to his shop and then along the way to meet up with their group. Why he remained best friends with this man, he honestly would never be able to know, he figured. "I don't get taxed for that because everything I sell is _essential_ ," he reminded him for the umpteenth time, hand directed at him sternly. "People need clothes. They don't need fuckin' decorative plates," he gestured to an array of etched glass platters resting delicately leaned up against narrow shelves. "And besides, I have _far_ more taxes than you do as a whole, and I'm not straight up robbing people."

Cartman rolled his eyes, "Oh boo-hoo you have to pay _odor_ taxes," he drawled. "Not my fault your fuckin' grease concoction stinks up the town."

Kenny frowned darkly. "Yeah, I have to pay that. Plus the draper taxes. _Plus_ the extra dough I have to spend for making my own dyes-"

"Not my fault you're robbing people in the city of their job," he smirked.

" _Plus_ ," He said through gritted teeth. "The fucking taxes _you_ tack onto everything!"

The brunette held up his hands defensively, "Whoa whoa whoa, not by choice, _Kinny_ ," he said, Kenny's eye twitching at that damn constant mispronunciation. It was only mildly irritating outside of their arguments, but when locked in debate, it was akin to Cartman _begging_ to get his face punched in in Kenny's opinion. "You know how much it costs _me_ to get you your special orders?" he demanded. "It ain't cheap, Kinny, I'll tell you that much."

"Well it's definitely not as much as you charge me," he glared. "Funny how these taxes took a hell of a jump right after you got the shop, ain't it?"

"Must we do this _every time_ you come pick up an order?" he sighed in annoyance. "Look, I've told you, tax laws changed when that old broad kicked the bucket."

Kenny shook his head, "Bet yer mom is real proud of how ya call yer grandma."

"My mother is too busy handling other orders to care," he said.

The blonde snorted mockingly, "Yeah. Bet she's got her hands _nice and full_ with some of them orders, huh? Keeps her up and out _all night-_ "

"Keep it up and your fucking silks get thrown into Clyde's forge," he snapped, amber eyes sparking with promise.

Kenny's lips quirked up in the slightest. Always a dirty move, but always the one that made him the winner. "Fine. You gonna show me my cloth or what?"

Cartman rolled his eyes, opening up his crate and grabbing the bundle of white fabric to set on the counter. Kenny narrowed his eyes, sifting through them one at a time. "What the fuck where's my green silk?" he demanded, looking up at his friend for explanation.

"Won't get in until next week," he shrugged.

"Oh my god, are you fucking kidding me?" he groaned, rubbing his forehead in frustration. "I have a fucking wedding dress due in _two_ weeks! I need that silk!"

"Then make it with the fucking white silk?" he raised his brow, staring at him like he was a fool.

He glared, "I _can't_. Because _someone_ didn't get me my elder leaves!"

Cartman pointed to himself, "Do you think I _grow_ the fucking plants?" he demanded. "I just make and bring in the orders, Po'Boy! I can't control how fast your damn leaves pop up! I told you, they should be in by next month but I can't make it go any faster than that!"

Kenny sneered, looking back at his inventory and sorting through materials, taking mental count. Two yards of cotton, four yards linen, one of silk, and five of tiretain. He sighed, "Fine, but you better not charge me for it," he growled.

The brunette rolled his eyes, "Yeah, yeah, I didn't, calm down. Gonna be four haithins."

His spine locked, eyes shutting and a deep, angry breath seeping out of him. "Four. Fucking. Haithins?" he repeated.

"It ain't cheap, Bud," he smacked his lips in boredom, gathering the fabric and haphazardly throwing it back into its crate. "Most of it traveled from Iresa."

"What, is Iresa fucking paved with gold?!" he questioned exasperatedly. He looked down and snatched his coin pouch from his hip secured beside his small tailor's kit that he'd been carrying since Levick first took him under his wing. " _Never a bad idea to always come prepared"_ , the man had informed him. Kenny spread the drawstring of his leather wallet and dug through, sighing through his nose.

"May as well be gold," Cartman shrugged, watching him sifting through his coins. "I ain't exactly happy with 'em either. They almost doubled their import tax on me, and I take the brunt of that, not the people I sell to."

"And yet somehow you manage to stay fairly wealthy while the rest of us are just barely above poverty level with your business," he flickered a dark stare up at him before finally finding a fourth and final haithin, tossing them onto the counter, the tense silence filled with their bouncing clatter.

Cartman kept their stare locked, not even looking at the money as he grabbed the coins and shoved them into his own pouch. "Look, Kinny, you sell _one_ thing. _One_. I sell whatever comes my way. It's not my fault you're a one-trick pony."

"My one trick keeps people warm, Fatass," he reminded him steadily. "You have a shop full of never-ending _junk_."

"Keeps me and my mother fed," he raised his brow. "That's all that matters to me. Now are you done playing victim or can I close shop and we can go fuckin' drink?"

Kenny sighed tiredly, grabbing his crate and shrugging dismissively, not willing to deal with this fight yet again. "Yeah, fine. Hurry up."

Cartman nodded curtly, looking back towards the back of the store. "Will!" he barked, both of them watching as the young boy bolted out into the main shop, looking at him with frightened eyes. "We're closin' up. Go home."

"Thank you, Mr. Cartman," he nodded, placing his inventory log on the desk. "Goodbye, Ken-"

" _Will_ …," Cartman warned.

"Mr. McCormick," he corrected hastily, waiting for Cartman to give him a sharp approving nod before smiling meekly and heading quickly out the front door.

Kenny watched after him before turning back to Cartman and shaking his head. "I _hate_ that you make him call me that. No one else does, why should he?"

"Because, Kinny, he's my apprentice," he reminded him. "I'm teaching him respect for the customers, even if it's for pieces of shit like you," he scoffed, snagging a heavy padlock and key from under his desk and following Kenny towards the front and out of the building. Kenny shifted the heavy material in his arms, waiting for Cartman to finish locking up his shop as he glanced up at the sky turning hues of rose and lavender, sighing through his nose.

"How much do you pay him, anyway?"

He shrugged, "A dristil a week. More than he'd get from most apprenticeships."

"That what you started on?"

"Yep," he confirmed, pulling on the lock to check it before straightening back up, the both of them heading back towards Kenny's store. "My mother made sure that's what Will started on, too," he rolled his eyes. "Don't know why, he's been nothin' but trouble since he started."

"He started when he was _nine_ ," he drawled. "Nine year olds ain't known for bein' proper businessmen or whatever it is you were expecting. You ever gonna up his pay?"

A smirk crawled up thin lips, "When he asks for it, yes."

Kenny glared at him, "Yeah. Little meek _Will_ is gonna ask for somethin' like that. You're cheatin' that poor kid."

"Well what did _you_ make when you were fifteen?" he demanded. "I was only making about three dristils a week. And I worked for my grandmother," he reminded him flatly.

The blonde looked up in thought, "I think I was makin' about two livatts by that point. But it was also just me n' Levick. Didn't have the three-way split you have goin' with your shop."

"Exactly," he drawled. "When William asks me, I'll bump him up to probably a dristil and four tempets. I think that's fair."

"Wow. How generous," he muttered, grunting as he repositioned his hands on the wooden slats as they made the turn off the main drag and back the way Kenny came.

Cartman rolled his eyes, "Look, the rate it's goin', Will's looking at inheriting my shop if I don't get hitched, or at least running it if I do have a kid."

Kenny visibly shuddered, "God do _not_ let me imagine a little spawn of _you_ running around. One of you is goddamn too much already."

" _Anyway_ ," he growled. "He's makin' plenty with his brother out in the fields to keep their family fed, they're almost doing better than you are, Po'Boy."

"Yeah, well, they don't have an entire week's profit paid over to you like I do," he rolled his eyes. "And they have two sources of income, not just one like my family. Pops doesn't seem to understand that business can only go _so_ well. More hands make it easier but it don't necessarily mean we're makin' more money."

The brunette snorted, "Well, I think _anyone_ could tell that your dad isn't the best at keepin' money around." Kenny sighed in defeat, nodding his head shamefully. It was certainly true. His family wasn't exactly known _just_ for the shop, but for being only one step above the homeless, each of the other townspeople pointing out Stuart while he stumbled through town. It was an awful thing to be associated with, but Kenny supposed that so long as that didn't affect his sales, he really couldn't do much about it.

He glanced out towards the trees, staring at the sky bleeding beyond the leaves and shifted the weight of his crate once again. Didn't really matter if he could, he supposed. Not like it would be the first thing to finally change.

* * *

The alehouse had always intrigued Kenny, ever since he was a little child. Stuart would bring him in with him now and again, knowing that cute, inquisitive children could buy him more than just attention, but a few on-the-house rounds if Kenny played up his wide-eyed stare well enough. Nowadays? That wide-eyed stare got saved for himself, and rarely did it make headway, but it was always good for a laugh at the very least.

He and Cartman pushed into the busy tavern, glancing around before landing on three figures sitting and laughing with one another, making their way through; Cartman pushed other patrons out of his way while Kenny remained light on his feet, trying not to slam into people and twisting awkwardly to do so. They shimmied their way to the table, greeted by three wide smiles.

"There you are," Clyde smirked, "The fuck took you so long?"

"Pops lost the shop key," Kenny rolled his eyes, waiting for Cartman to slide into his chair beside Clyde before settling down next to Wendy, the girl smiling sympathetically and patting his arm.

"Did you find it at least?" she asked, voice soft but still audible over the ruckus surrounding them. Kenny glanced over as Cartman signaled across the way for the both of them to be brought their drinks before turning his attention back to her.

"Yeah, it was in his damn coin pouch," he scoffed. "Idiot."

Token twisted his lips from the other side of Wendy, wrapping an arm around her waist "I'm amazed he hasn't burnt your shop to the ground by this point."

"It'd go up quicker than anything else in this shithole," Cartman smirked. "All that fabric must make some _strong_ kindling."

Kenny held up his hand, "Can we _not_ jinx my only chance of survival? Please?"

Clyde nodded in agreement, "Let's keep the fire in _my_ realm, huh?"

"And Cartman's," Wendy said flatly, "From the burning rage of all his business partners."

"Oh my god," he rolled his eyes dramatically. "Are you _still_ pissed about the fucking wicks?"

Token cocked his brow, looking at her confusedly, "What wicks?"

She crossed her arms, settling back into his shoulder and keeping her glare on the bulky man. "He bumped up the price of my wicks by three tempets. My father is _livid_."

Cartman scoffed, "Well tell him to take his anger out on a pig and chop its goddamn head off or something it's not my decision, it's the goddamn draper. He's fucking over both you _and_ Kinny," he gestured towards the blonde who sighed irritably. "I'm not _always_ the bad guy, you know! I'm just as blindsided as you are!"

She frowned deeper, "That's why you were laughing when you told me the price, right?"

He shrugged innocently, "I was just remembering a joke that Clyde told me, that's all," he claimed.

Clyde brightened up, putting his cup down and licking his lips. "Which joke? The one about the girl and the donkey, right?"

"Clyde. He's lying," Token sighed, rubbing his temple and shaking his head. "And please don't tell us the joke," he stopped him before he opened his mouth again, Clyde pouting and going back to his ale. He turned to Cartman and his tiredness fell in lieu of a sharp glare. "The draper only bumped your tax up by a tempet, he delivered some velvet to my mother and we discussed it. Stop overcharging Wendy and Ken, Fatass."

Cartman scoffed, "Excuse me for trying to make a living and not wallow in poverty like three out of four of you," he waved at them dismissively. A young woman came to their table and slid two drinks in front of Kenny, shooting him a wink before heading off. He snorted, passing Cartman his drink and taking a long sip of his own.

He glanced up at Token, "So. Velvet huh?"

He nodded, rolling his eyes as he did so. "Wants a cushion covered with it."

"I can do that if you'd like," he suggested.

Token eyed him warily, "Have you ever _worked_ with velvet before?"

Kenny pouted, "Well… no. Because fuck me if I can afford it. But I _think_ I know how to sew, and Levick told me it ain't much different than workin' with hemp, just a lot softer. I can get it done in an afternoon if you'll let me?" he asked, voice right on that cusp of begging. Any extra money was good for him, and he could charge them just a tad more for working with such delicate, expensive fabric.

Wendy elbowed Token, "Hon, come on. Let him sew it."

He smirked, looking between her urging expression and his hopeful eyes and nodded. "I'll talk her out of attempting it herself. I'd rather you do it right than her botch up an eight haithin order."

"Holy shit, _eight_?" Clyde repeated, brown eyes wide with astonishment.

"For a half yard, yeah," he nodded casually, taking a slow sip of his drink and sighing in contentment.

"There's a reason I don't keep a stock of it," Kenny smirked meekly.

Cartman rolled his eyes, "And you're yelling at me for three tempets." He gestured at Token, "Why not have your _boyfriend_ pay for your wicks if it's such a hassle, Wendy?"

She glared, "Because my family makes its own money, Cartman. We don't need a handout."

"You might soon," he shrugged, taking a gulp, chest rising with a soft belch. "Soon enough you'll have to share on Kinny's odor tax."

The girl narrowed her eyes in confusion, ignoring Token fiddling with her long black hair nonchalantly. "What are you talking about?"

"Well you work with pork fat," he stated bluntly. "It's _atrocious_."

She gritted her teeth, long nails rapidly clacking against the wooden table. "The smell stays in-shop, Fatboy. It's not _that_ potent."

"Oh, I didn't mean the shop," he smiled snidely. "I meant it'll be a _personal_ tax for how it stays on _you_."

"Cartman, knock it off," Kenny warned.

"Don't tell me you've never noticed, given, how would you know what pork smells like?" Cartman flicked his arm. "The fact that you know make enough to know what _bread_ smells like is miracle enough."

"Knock it _off_ ," he repeated, jerking his arm away from his touch.

Wendy shook her head, reaching over and clasping Kenny's opposite forearm reassuringly. "At least my family uses all the animal," she said coolly, keeping her temper from rising out of her control. "I'd rather that than be like you and waste half a plate of food while my neighbors are starving in the streets."

"Well aren't you just one of Tavin's perfect little nalies," he cocked his brow. "Is that your future plan? Get out of candlemaking and settle in Mapols training to be a naly? Pretty sure what you n' Token have done would get you kicked out of the sisterhood," he said bluntly.

Token glared, "You don't know what we've done so _back off_."

"Guys, come on," Clyde whined. "We've all been working all day why do you do this every goddamn night?"

"Because Cartman _starts it_ every goddamn night," Kenny muttered, taking a long swig of his drink and sighing. "And let's fucking face it, nothin' ever changes in this piss n' shit town."

Clyde blinked before sinking a bit in his seat, staring at his half-gone drink and nodding solemnly. "Yeah. That's true."

Token sighed, looking up towards the ceiling and smacking his lips. "I heard a rumor from Iresa. Well, got a letter from one of my correspondents."

"Oh? They raising _more_ taxes?" Wendy raised her brow.

He shook his head. "The taxes don't get raised by them. They get raised out in Lantrealy by the governing council. But that's not the point," he waved his hand in front of him dismissively. "Apparently they're having a huge festival in Iresa in about two weeks. Makes the entire town profit like crazy, they do it every year. People sell out nearly all their wares."

"Holy shit," Kenny raised his brow, impressed with the notion.

"Why don't we organize something like that?" Clyde asked.

Cartman scoffed, "Because no one here has the _money_ to buy everyone's wares, Clyde. There's no one poor in Iresa."

"Well, no one that participates in the festival at least," Token shrugged. "My family was considering going but myself and my father have too many accounts to iron out before we could do so."

Wendy hummed, tipping her cup and sinking just slightly enough for Kenny to notice. "Must be nice to have the option at least," she mused. Kenny frowned, turning his arm her hand was still sitting up and twisting to grasp back around her own. It was always a challenge for Wendy to be with someone of such high stature. She'd confided with Kenny months beforehand, telling him how going to his house to see his parents was nothing short of humiliating, dressed in clothes reeking of the butcher shop and her candlemaking material, only presentable from Kenny's constant mending of her fabrics. Meanwhile she walked into a home with a servant and Token's parents dressed in silk and fine, clean linen. She was always welcomed and they seemed to take a liking to her, but that seed of doubt always lingered for her. She cared deeply for Token, always had, but that class difference just stood out above all else, made her feel inadequate and small being stuck in the family business while Token had his own sect of his own family's affairs that were under his wing. She glanced up at Kenny, shooting him a small, thankful smile and he nodded, squeezing her arm lightly.

Token noticed the gesture, taking another sip of his drink and smacking his lips nonchalantly. He knew Wendy and Kenny had always been fairly close, coming from similar businesses and families alike. Ever since their childhood they'd bonded over the troubles of wanting to keep their family fed and wanting to burst out on their own, finding comfort in an analogous spirit. "The option is nice, yeah. But just because an option is there it doesn't mean you go for it. You have to be at least somewhat responsible in your affairs."

"Gee. Thanks, Dad," Clyde rolled his eyes.

"I'm only saying that some things are more important than going off and seeing something that sounds interesting," he emphasized.

Cartman quirked a brow, "And we're just saying we wish we had the _option_. No one was saying 'let's pack up and go'."

"Right," Kenny nodded. "Just the _idea_ of not being trapped here and being able to get to Iresa or Lantrealy or where-the-fuck-ever is nice."

Token glanced around at the four faces now turned somewhat sour, staring down at their cups and his stomach twisted guiltily. "Guys… Guys I didn't mean it like that," he said quietly, cheeks heating up.

"We know you didn't," Wendy assured him, turning and kissing his cheek. "It's just… well…"

"Hard for us," Kenny finished softly, barely audible over the humming murmur of patrons surrounding their locked conversation. "One day though. One day."

Cartman shook his head, "Not with the profits you make, Po'Boy."

"Then one day I _will_ just pack up and go," he said firmly, shooting him an icy stare. "I'd rather be survivin' on berries n' takin' odd jobs to survive than stayin' here the rest of my life and turning into my father."

Wendy squeezed his arm again, "One day," she agreed. "Maybe on that day… all five of us can go see Iresa. We can leave the shops to our families or… well, or Mr. Feldon," she shrugged at Clyde who smirked sheepishly. "We'll find ourselves a wagon and a horse and just _go_. Come back with neat stories of the city and new wares to show everyone."

The other five nodded, minds spinning with the possibility. Kenny grinned, raising up his cup. "To one day," he declared.

"To one day," the rest agreed, clacking the metal cups against one another and taking long gulps.

Token smirked as he brought his cup back down. "Next round's on me, Guys. And the one after that." The other four thanked him, falling back into a comfortable state with one another as the pattern tended to go. However, tonight was a little different, and each of them could feel it, the backs of their minds each dreaming up possibilities of grandeur and adventure that their parents could never even so much as imagine anymore. But for now, they were pretty happy, just being the five of them as they were most every night, sitting around their table and trading tales of their days, laughing at ridiculous customers and yelling at one another for foolish mistakes. But now, a new promise hung over them like a slice of sunlight beaming through a monotone sky – _One day_.


	4. Music of the Stars

Perhaps, Kenny pondered, five ales was a bit too much. And pushing past that to the seventh was _definitely_ overkill, but watered-down booze required higher intake, or, at least that's what Clyde told the lot of them. But he was warm, he was content. His cheeks found themselves lightly flushed, hair ruffled from his hand constantly running up through the blonde locks as he struggled to find words throughout the night. As much as he hated to admit it, he could definitely understand why his father frequented the establishment and partook in this level of activity on a nightly basis. However, that ringing reminder consistently sounded in the back of his mind throughout the night: Don't be him. Cut it off where it needed to be.

Finally, after taking the last long gulp of his final drink, throat dancing with the tingles of malt and yeast, he stopped the barmaid from serving him another. He had work in the morning, as did the rest of them, he reminded his friends with a slight slur.

Cartman waved off the notion, "Only people who need t' be sober are you n' Crybaby over here," he thumbed towards Clyde, who glowered at him slightly. "Details and whatnot."

"Least I'm not known for cryin' for my _mommy_ ," Clyde retorted in slight offense through a hiccup.

Amber eyes locked on him, a cruel glint flashing over them in the lantern lights surrounding the entire tavern in a constant orange glow. "That's because _my_ mother isn't _dead_ ," he reminded him bluntly.

Clyde's face fell and paled, lip wobbling in the slightest and a wall of water building over his eyes before Kenny reared his hand back and let it fly forward, slapping the back of Cartman's head. "Not cool, Fatass!" the blonde hissed, looking at Clyde under Cartman's string of expletives directed at the tailor. "Dude, Clyde," Kenny held up his hand, eyes closing in the slightest as he tried to gather his thoughts. "Don't let this piece of shit get to you," he finally worked out. "He ain't worth it."

The blacksmith looked down at his emptied cup, nodding solemnly and heaving a deep sigh. Kenny watched him sympathetically before movement caught his eye, glancing at Wendy and Token a little too lost in the throes of heavy petting to contribute to the discussion. He sighed and rolled his eyes, reaching for his coin pouch and delving through the change. Flickering blue eyes back up to the couple he shook his head and snorted. "Hate to interrupt your very important matters, but how many rounds are you coverin' here, Token?"

He finally broke from Wendy's lips, dark skin flushed and a goofily happy grin over his face. Kenny couldn't help but return the expression. Money meant nothing by means of how inebriated one could get after a good few rounds. The man looked up thoughtfully before shrugging, "Fuck it, I got the bill tonight, Guys," he waved them all off.

Kenny's face fell, "I don't fucking think so, Token."

"Come on, let me do this," he said, Cartman finally recovered from his hit and already on his way ordering another drink while Clyde and Kenny fidgeted at the notion. "I made way more than needed from one of my last clients, just let me handle it this _one_ time," he pleaded. "I'm not trying to wound your pride."

"We know," Kenny murmured, glancing between his pouch and the cup in front of him. He hated the idea of all that money coming from someone else's pocket, hated the _uncertainty_ of the gesture. Token was a great friend, had been since they were tiny children running around and the concept of classes meant literally nothing, but that just couldn't stay the same, no matter how much they tried to make it seem as though it could. But Kenny had learned young and quickly that great friends was only a drestil away from becoming a begrudged enemy. This could turn against him, turn into Token holding it over his head, even if the other didn't _mean_ to make it seem that way, it'd creep into Kenny's subconscious time and again. He'd dealt with it before, practically on the brink from one of the educated children in town who'd been hired to teach Token to read and write, offering to do the same lessons for his friends and have private class sessions for the entire group. For _years_ Kenny waited, just _waited_ for it to be brought up, to be used as a 'well you owe me' tactic. It wasn't until he'd managed to help fix the kid's father's good attire that helped secure him a wealthy job far off and away that he felt the debt was anywhere _near_ repaid. Going through that with Token, with someone so close to him on levels of personal companionship? He'd rather chew off his own foot.

Token watched his expression shifting warily and sighed, knowing that Kenny's pride was always a handful to say the very least. He'd never understood it, not until he'd watched the blonde, Wendy, and Clyde refusing to charge certain customers for their varied services years beforehand. After all, no one who couldn't afford to eat very well had no business paying for a thick woolen blanket, a candle to light their way, and a simple, thin dagger for the barest essence of protection into the night. He'd lectured the lot of them after seeing Clyde handing off a weapon out of Mr. Feldon's scope, the three of them utterly _baffled_ at the concept of someone less fortunate than their own hardened lives having to scrounge for their wares. _"Only the truly helpless need help,"_ Kenny had declared. _"At least in matters of money."_

The clerk sighed, scratching his head and nodding to himself. "All right, Ken. You let me pay for this, and you don't fuck me over on sewing that cushion. Deal?" he asked.

Kenny glanced back up at him, forcing a still-uneasy smile on his face. "I wouldn't anyway. But I'm only charging the same as a cotton attachment."

"Oh for the love of Tavin," he rubbed his forehead, glancing over at Wendy who put a hand on his arm and smiled reassuringly at him. The expression said it all, this was as good as it was going to get. "Fine, fine," he nodded in defeat.

"What about me?" Clyde asked quietly.

Token twisted his lips. "I need some new quill tips; can you whip me up a couple of those for half price?"

Clyde beamed, "For free, yes." He ignored Token's groaning as he and Kenny got to their feet. "Thanks, Token, seriously."

"You really didn't have to," Kenny added.

"I know, I know, but I wanted to," he smirked at them. "Have a good night, guys."

Kenny nodded, "You, too. Wendy. Fatboy. We'll see you tomorrow I'm sure," he nodded, the three of them waving him away as he and Clyde met behind Token and Wendy's chairs, both of them stumbling lightly as they awkwardly made their way through the crowd and out the front door. The chilled night air was like a slap in the face, jolting both their eyes wide and alert.

"I always forget how warm it is in there," Clyde laughed, rubbing his eyes tiredly. Kenny nodded in agreement, ears still lightly ringing with the murmur of conversation and clattering of dishware he'd endured the past several hours. He let out a long yawn, stretching up onto the tip of his toes and nearly falling back as he lowered himself once more. Clyde laughed louder as he caught him, patting his back. "Had a bit too much, eh, Ken?"

Chuckling warmly, ale filling him with warmth against the assault of the breeze dancing through the closed peonies, he agreed. "I don't drink much, 'member?" he slurred. "Not this much at once, anyway."

"Had a rough day, huh?"

He shook his head, waving off the notion. "Nah. Not no harder than any other. Just… felt like it for once," he shrugged. Placing a hand on Clyde's shoulder, he tightened the grip enough to get those hazel eyes locked back on him and pointed at him firmly, face falling into a scolding expression. "Clyde. Don't lemme do it often," he said sharply.

Clyde nodded sympathetically, patting his back again. "I won't, Bud. I won't."

"And _never_ let Fatass say that kinda shit to you," he continued. "Don't you cry, you make _him_ cry."

An awkward chuckle left chilled lips, "Easier said than done."

"Don't matter. Make it happen."

Clyde smirked, nodding again. "I'll try. Do you need help getting home?"

Kenny finally relinquished his shoulder, much to Clyde's relief, and shook his head. "Nah. I'm just kinda… off," he tilted his hand slightly. "I'm good though. I'll see ya tomorrow. Don't burn your apron, I'm runnin' out of your fabric."

He snorted, turning on his heel and glancing back at him with an amused smile. "I'll do my best. You get some sleep, Ken."

"Will do. Night," he said, turning his own direction and heading towards a side road rounding the curve back towards home. He let out a long breath, glancing up to stare at the splash of stars glimmering down on him and smiling fondly. A stretch of lavender streaked the sky, vibrant as an artist's touch to canvas; A river with embedded stones of ever-glittering diamonds leading his way home. He wondered if it would ever lose the entrapment it had held over him for so long. He wanted to _drown_ in that river. He wanted to be submerged in the seemingly solid form, envisioning it as a length of the purest silk for him to glide between the fibers and find himself washed anew in iridescence.

A soft glow caught his peripheral, forcing his blurred sight back down to the monotony of the world, lips cracking into a smile as the same children from earlier continued to play down the way. He hummed in amusement, listening to their laughs, obviously tired from their night of play but continuing to indulge themselves before finally being summoned back to bed. Kenny grinned, these lucky kids still had another good year or three before work finally began, left to their own devices as the world continued to turn for all others and stopped just for them.

He couldn't deny how he missed the comradery of such times in his own youth. Back when Cartman was still a prick, but punching him wouldn't get him any trouble but a finger wagging and a night in his room from his mother. When Clyde crying was something that they laughed at as opposed to the empathy that seemed to come with age. When Wendy spending all her time with the group of them wasn't seen as _scandalous_ when she wasn't paired with any of them, she was just another kid willing to roll around in the dirt and have the time of her life. Kenny twisted his lips slightly, wondering if she would've stayed the course with them had she not finally accepted Token's advances a good two years after they'd began. Talk spread fast and being rumored of being passed around the four boys was not doing her any favors. Linked arm-and-arm with Token was her salvation in more ways than he figured even _she_ could imagine.

He paused for a bit across from the kids, staring at them running from beyond their toy cart and sighing. Shaking his head, he could only manage a small, jumble-worded prayer for the lot of them. Hoping that maybe _they_ would be the group that got out young, since he and his own friends had already missed their chance by a longshot at not growing up where the most excitement came from an unprecedented thunderstorm. Turning on his heel, he began to head back between buildings, starting his route down an alleyway shortcut back to his home. He wondered if Karen was still up waiting for him, hoping that she'd figured out his chosen activity for the night and knew well enough that he could handle himself.

Softly, in the distance, a foreign sound picked up his hearing. He paused, eyes narrowing as a fluid, lovely tone came from beyond, growing with a smooth crescendo into the night. He turned back towards the kids, seeing them stopped all the same, looking at each other in confusion and asking if the others heard what they did. They all jolted as the sound began to turn into notes, fluttering through the air smooth as honey. The quiet echo of light assonance wrapped around them, making the brisk air seem calm as the tide, guided by the tune. A couple lighthearted trills made their way into the fray, and Kenny felt somewhat compelled to follow them. He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the notion. Planting a hand against a cob building and rubbing his head confusedly, he glanced up at the sound of a parade of tiny footsteps, watching the kids beckoning one another to find the source of the music.

He narrowed his eyes, trying to quickly stumble after them and faltering, stepping on a rogue rock and slipping onto his knees, hissing at the hardened dirt catching him on his thin cotton pants. The man groaned, trying to piece together a semblance of what was happening. He knew this town, knew the people inside and out. Music didn't happen here, only when travelers came about, leaving as soon as they figured out that their instrumental talents couldn't earn them much from the downtrodden villagers. The _only_ musician he knew in town was elderly Mrs. Grady, and she couldn't do much to string her lute, let alone play something so wonderfully pitched as what he was hearing on a different instrument entirely. He hummed, wondering just what it was the sound was coming from.

It was crisp and clean, a soft, loving tone that seemed to be holding back the promise of something more should one not tread about it lightly. It was wonderful, a sound made for the background of dreams and the accompaniment of long-skirted dancers gliding along as elegantly as it itself. Kenny grinned warmly, working his way back onto his feet and leaning against the wall, taking a contented breath and letting the peaceful melody lure him into a state of sweet nothings.

And all at once, it came to a halt.

Kenny opened his eyes, lips forming into a pout before he could catch it happening. He heard the kids off in the distance, shouting into the night for it to please continue, and Kenny found himself pleading along with them.

Groaning, he forced himself back off the wall, looking up through the buildings back to his lavender river and sighing. That sound was made for the stars; Made for them to gleam along with the cadence and wrap their viewers into nothing short of a maternal embrace.

Warm-fitted wonders came to a grinding halt, Kenny's pupils shrinking as a swift figure passed over the top of the roof. "What the fuck…" he whispered, stumbling back into the middle of the alley and keeping his neck craned in bewilderment. He took a few steps forward back towards the fields, a splotch of black catching the sides of his eye coming down from beyond the passageway. Kenny snapped his head back down, mouth gaping at a thin figure now at the kids' toy cart. He gulped, moving silently back to the side of a building, breath hitching. Where did this person _come from_?

Licking dried lips, he forced his inebriated self to push forward, keeping close to the wall and his leather shoes from doing any more than pressing dirt under his weight. He made it to the cusp of the alleyway, hidden in the confines of shadows while the figure very carefully dug through the cart. The blonde cocked his head in confusion as they used the back of their hand to gently shove aside certain items, catching nothing but a slender body shape silhouetted against the night sky.

A long line cascaded down the figure's side behind their back and Kenny blinked. A cape of some kind? They didn't _seem_ to have any kind of cowl around their neck, nothing bulkily shaped about them, nothing draping off their shoulders that he could plainly spot. _'What a weird outfit,'_ He pondered, wondering for a brief moment if he should step out and ask to see their garment, maybe get a new design for the shop.

The thoughts came to a stop as he watched them gently prying a stuffed toy from the looks of it out of the cart and twisting it in their hand. Ken narrowed his eyes as they brought the toy closer to their face, seeming to _sniff_ at it before nodding and shoving the toy into a large satchel dangling off of their arm. He gritted his teeth. Fancy outfit or no, he knew exactly what was happening here, and he'd be _damned_ if he was going to let someone steal from a bunch of kids.

Kenny straightened up, putting on a face he assumed must be menacing, turning out in his tipsy state to be nothing more than miffed as he stepped out of his hiding spot as the thief continued to shift through their findings. "HEY!" he shouted, the figure jerking in fear, Kenny feeling their eyes locked in his own, neither of them daring to take a breath as the cold air suddenly became thick as hide. "The fuck are you doin'?" he demanded, stumbling a bit but forcing himself to straighten himself taller once more.

The thief grabbed at their satchel nervously, taking slow steps backwards, refusing to make a sound.

Their quiet only enraged Kenny more, "Ya don't steal shit from kids!" he barked, making out a flinch from the smaller form in the darkness. The sound of the children's disappointed voices from not finding the music made both of them turn their heads, Kenny glancing back swiftly and his mouth dropping with horror.

The figure's 'cape' spread into four long, thick appendages from behind them, the creature turning on its heel and taking flight, speeding off to disappear into the tall reeds in the far distance with a speed that Kenny had never seen. He let out a sound of shock and terror, falling back onto the ground and backing up against a building, breath turning short and shallow. He imagined that. He _had to have imagined that._

He barely noticed as the kids returned to their cart, talking in sad murmurs of losing the sound, each of them spouting theories on what it must have been as they began to pack up to go home. Meanwhile, Kenny still sat, stunned into silence and eyes unblinking. He shook his head at himself slowly. He just had _way_ too much to drink, dreamt it all up from hearing that music. There was no other explanation, because what he just saw didn't make any _semblance_ of sense, inebriated or no.

Finally, with shaking hands, he forced himself to get back up onto his feet, continuing to stare at the reeds, narrowing his eyes trying to see if anything out of the ordinary moved in the distance.

"Where's my kitty?!" a distressed voice finally broke him from his trance, glancing in front of him to one of the children, the youngest by the looks of it, digging through their cart in a frenzy.

"Sarah, I'm sure it's at home," one of the boys assured her, helping her dig through to continue the search.

She shook her head frantically, "No, I packed him up!" she swore. "He was here! He was with us when we played with the tops!"

One of the other children nodded in agreement, "Yeah, he was. And she put him back under the bag to keep him warm, remember?" The kids all paused, looking at one another in confusion at the recollection.

"Then someone took him!" Sarah proclaimed, nearing the edge of tears.

Kenny's mouth slowly fell once again. Okay. Okay he didn't imagine someone being there. Maybe he imagined them flying away like an arrow, but not them physically _being there_ … He rubbed his head in befuddlement. What was even happening? Was he really _that_ drunk? He'd never hallucinated before, not without a hell of a fever to accompany him. His attention was brought back up as Sarah began to cry into her hands, the other kids gathering around her to comfort her while the oldest two quietly conversed as to where it possibly could've ended up.

The man blinked, swallowing his lingering fear and making way across the road. "Hey, you all right? Missing your kitty?" he asked, the kids looking at him in surprise.

"Hi, Kenny," one of them greeted him solemnly.

He nodded at the lot before turning his attention to the distressed young girl, "Hey there, Sarah." He knelt down in front of her, tapping her arm. "What's your kitty look like?" he asked kindly, hoping a little too hard that she wouldn't smell the harsh ale still lingering on his breath.

She sniffled, wiping her eyes and choking out another brokenhearted sob. "He was yellow… b-blue bow," she gestured to her neck and he nodded in understanding. "H-he's this big," she said holding out her hands to the size of her tiny waist.

"And you're all _sure_ it was put back?" he asked, looking at group of six nodding in unison. He set his lips tightly and hummed to himself. This was too strange. Just far too surreal for an ordinary night like tonight. He glanced at the eldest, looking not a day over nine and just as lost as himself, pleading silently for Kenny to have some kind of solution.

The man cleared his throat, nodding softly, "Well… would you be okay with… having a new kitty? So if we find your other one sometime he has a friend to come home to? I know it ain't the same but I can make ya another one." Sarah stared at him, tears and eyes glistening in the limited moonlight, nodding softly. "Shh, it's okay," he cooed, patting her arm. "I'm sure your kitty wants you to have another friend until he gets back, okay?"

She nodded again, twisting her dress shyly through her tears. "Thank you, Kenny," she whimpered.

"Hey, hey, it's all right," he promised. "You kids all stop by my shop tomorrow evening after we close. I'll keep it open just for you, all right? You want the new kitty to be yellow, too? With a blue bow?"

She shook her head, "Red bow… s-so…"

"So your kitty knows he isn't replaced?" he guessed, getting another nod. He smiled sympathetically, "Well, you'll have your new one tomorrow, I promise. You guys get home. It's pretty late and gettin' cold," he advised.

"Thanks, Kenny," the oldest said gratefully for the crisis being somewhat averted as the man got back to his feet.

He watched the kids throw the last of their toys in the wagon, working together to start pushing it down the street. He bit his lip, alcohol stopping his better judgement before letting out a, "Hey, kids?"

They paused, turning back to look at him. "Yeah?"

"You uh… you have any metal toys in that cart?" he questioned.

The group all turned to glance in at their wares before once more staring up at him. "Uh, no?" the oldest replied.

Kenny nodded softly, glancing back towards the reeds before sliding tired eyes back their way. "Well, you may wanna throw a few in there. Might be a good idea."

Sarah tipped her head, wiping her eyes again, "Why?"

He smiled and shrugged lazily, "Just call it an old superstition. You guys get home. Get some sleep. I'll see you tomorrow."

They stared at him a bit suspiciously but nodded, "We will, Kenny. You get sleep, too," one requested. He laughed quietly and nodded, watching them all continue on their way down the road. The smile fell from his face, looking back into the fields and taking a shaking breath. Slowly, he backed back into the alleyway before forcing himself to look away from the distance and back to civilization.

He _had_ to have imagined it, merely brought about by a night of drinking and filled with talks of grandiose adventures... _Right?_


	5. River in the Sky

Pursuing sewing as a hobby never crossed Kenny's mind, far too busy caught in the midst of making it his source of income. But then again, that seemed to be the trend with all his fellow entrepreneurs; The baker never let the yeast rise in his own home, Wendy did her best to avoid candles at all costs when out of her shop, and Kenny could only hope that Clyde wasn't sitting in his room peining out a slab of steel. But upon finishing what work could be done for his orders for the day while Karen and his mother attempted to finish their batch of decorated clothing, he'd found himself having a good deal of enjoyment tracing out a pattern for little Sarah Peterson's new cat.

Ken considered himself an artist by no means, much more adept to the simplistic lines of a shirt than anything else. But over time with learning more intricate designs to expand his market, he'd found a bit more fluidity in his talents than he'd realized was possible. By no means was this creation going to be anatomically accurate, something obvious even in the flattened image scripted upon his parchment, but it was going to be as good as he could possibly make it in the time allotted.

While he was considered a master of the cloth, he couldn't deny there was something exhilarating about dragging his horsehair brush up a flattened piece of tiretain, watching a thin line of grease seep into the fabric and guide the path of his shears. He couldn't help but wonder where the enjoyment spawned from, perhaps from the immediate result. Painting was done one stroke at a time, but each pass of the brush held some meaning into the picture, brought it all together. The same could be said of his stitches, but no one but himself appreciated a finely hemmed sleeve, a delicately performed operation on a ruined dress. No one would turn their clothes inside out and run down the seamline, complimenting and nodding to themselves as they murmured words of praise for his artisanal feat as they would a colorful painting of the distant mountains. It was a quietly appreciated craft, met only with pure, unbridled joy when faced with an order suiting a festive occasion, and even then it was more just polite thanks than it was the same level of excitement he himself experienced when finally completing a rough-going project. But Kenny was just fine with that, not needing the extra attention brought upon himself. He was content enough with merely doing his job and doing it right than he was someone revering him as though he were a wizard of his fabrics, though asking anyone in his family or his friends, they'd swear that such a statement could hold water.

The tailor hummed, fingers fiddling with a cut off side of the cat's tail, glancing towards the nearly completed project plopped down on his table in front of him. It'd taken him hours of nonstop finagling to get it to sit correctly, built perfectly for a little girl who liked to take it with her as she ventured out to play. His tiretain would hold well in the elements, demonstrated constantly by the clothing he sold of the same material. It was cheap and his most well-stocked asset, people opting more often than not for price rather than quality of material. He certainly was no fan of being tied down to it, trying to talk people up towards pure linen or cotton for both breathing room and aesthetic, so he wouldn't have to line the innards of their tunics with another material to make it feel like less burlap and more like clothing. But, as Levick taught him, sometimes people just need the bare essentials, a motto that Kenny had lived by all his life, but he didn't like the idea of _everyone_ being tied down to the same philosophy.

His creation rested, plopped down lazily as it waited for him to finally complete him, stuffed full of discounted wool roving from the farmers on the outskirts of town. Not suitable enough to send off to the drapers and the spinsters, he'd been handed a nice full half pound for a mere price of one livatt, and made his way back into the shop with Kevin joking that he should plaster the excess onto sleeves and call them fur-lined. A good full handfuls were now safely secured within the cat, plush and staring at him with large glass-beaded eyes and nose, dyed by dipping them into his inkwell and allowing them to dry in the windowsill from the heat of the sun. Stuart had been infuriated with the notion of 'wasting' fabric and time on a free present for a sad little girl, nearly ending with the two of them screaming at each other before Kevin managed to usher their father out back to check on their dyes from the day before.

Why Stuart continued to do this to him, Kenny would never know. For all his father knew, the most expensive yard of pure, smooth silk was the same price as his rough-and-ready tiretain, so he had absolutely no right to question Kenny on the financial matters. But he knew deep down that all the knowledge he had was moot in the man's eyes. Kenny owned the shop, but Stuart owned the family. There was no by-passing that disaster no matter how he prayed.

"Ya almost done, Hon?" his mother's voice brought him out of his concentration as he tried to line up the two sides of his pattern to stitch them together.

He shot his head over and blinked, seeing the girls packing up their threads and covering their work for the day to prevent all the insect activity that they could. "Um, not too much longer," he shrugged, slipping undyed cotton thread up through the tiretain to link them at last. "Just gotta sew, stuff, and attach the tail."

Karen stalked over, leaning down beside him and staring at the cat, cocking her head at it and a tiny grin slipping onto her face. "It's cute," she declared. "You should make more of 'em. Sell 'em to kids in a stand."

"Oh?" he smirked. "And just which of us is going to be running the stand? We're all pretty immovable at this point, Kare."

Her face twisted into a small, thoughtful pout. "Well, Kevin only has t' step away every few hours to stir the dyes," she shrugged. "And he's ok with customers. Maybe he could do it."

"I'm not leaving Pops alone with my dyes," he muttered, continuing to stitch down the line. "'Member what happened when Kev got sick and had t' stay home a few days? When Pops fucked up a batch of mezereon? Because who _wouldn't_ only half read brasilwood and spend three days boiling _basil_ and wonder why it wasn't coming out fucking purple?" He said bitterly, shaking his head at the reminder of eight yards of fabric completely ruined.

Karen nodded sympathetically, shifting her weight. "Well… at least it all smelled good?" she winced.

He snorted, the scowl finally leaving his face as he elbowed her lightly. "You n' your bright side ways."

Carol shook her head, finishing covering the materials on the wall and walking towards the both of them, glancing between the stuffed pet and her son. "She's right, though. Ya did good."

Kenny cleared his throat, ducking his head down and feeling the beginnings of dusky pink settling on his cheekbones. "Thanks," he mumbled.

She chuckled, patting his head softly. "You gonna finish up?"

He nodded, "Yeah, she's gonna stop by and get him 'fore long. I told her to come over when the shop closed."

Karen grabbed another stool and drug it beside him, plopping down and smiling brightly at their mother. "I'll wait with him."

Carol rolled her eyes amusedly. "All right. The boys are headin' home after they pick up the bread, so we'll meet you there. Try to get there for dinner, huh?"

Kenny nodded, "We'll try. See ya, Ma."

"Be good," she said, giving a small wave and making her way out of the shop.

The kids watched after her, continuing to stare out the window into the beginnings of the evening and both heaving long sighs before glancing back at each other and smirking. "Why'd you offer t' make a cat?" Karen asked quietly. "You ain't ever made a stuffed animal before."

He shrugged, turning his attention back to the task at hand. "Just seemed like the right thing to do, ya know?" He paused, wincing a bit, "And I may have been a _little_ too drunk t' know what I was signin' up for." Karen's face dropped a bit and he looked back at her guiltily, "I promise, it wasn't like him."

"I know, I know," she raised her hands a bit in defense. "You aren't _that_ stupid."

"Well, maybe not in the same way," he chuckled. "She was just so sad lookin', ya know? Had to do _somethin'_." She hummed softly, turning her attention back to watching him stitch so fluently. Kenny sighed through his nose, mind retreating into the misty haze once more, but not finding his usual contentment in his daydreaming. No, instead he found himself mentally facing down the multiple-appendaged creature from the night prior. He still couldn't seem to shake himself out of the memory, finding it a little too clarified to be mere drunken delusion. However, he wasn't sure if he wanted it to be or not, truth be told. This wasn't a creature that Meryl's book had mentioned, not one that nearly stood his height, someone that looked human in the mottled moonlight until those new limbs spread out as naturally as his own arms. Trying to dissect the memory of the silhouette had done him no favors thus far, remembering nothing but thin, lean limbs and careful, calculated movements as they'd sorted through the cart.

Kenny frowned deeply at that particular reminder. Who steals from a child's toy cart? Someone with kids of their own? Someone who just enjoyed the thrill of taking what didn't belong to them? And what could something that clearly wasn't a mere person want to do with any of the cheap wares, let alone something as simple as a stuffed cat? He shook his head. It just raised far too many questions, and he had no idea how to start looking at it all. And it just posed another query, remembering quite vividly the rich, crisp music that'd settled itself so beautifully in his ears, recalling it even as he'd sobered and awoken in the light of dawn. Had the creature somehow made the sound? How? And _why_ would it do something so wonderful but then turn around and be nothing more than a conniving thief?

He sighed. This was far too complicated for a simple tailor to have to figure out, and he knew well enough that asking anyone of the possibilities wouldn't exactly end well for him. Last thing he needed was for the business to suffer because word got out that he was insane or something of that nature.

His needle made contact with the tip of the tail before a knock came at the front of the shop, Karen and Kenny both whirling around to see a group of young faces at the window staring at them curiously. He smirked. They were a little early, but hopefully Sarah wouldn't mind waiting _too_ much longer. He waved them inside, the six of them piling in one by one. "Hey there, Kiddos," he greeted.

"Hello, Kenny," a small chorus sprang as the last kid shut the door behind them.

Sarah timidly stood at the front of the group, glancing up at him hopefully and he smiled. "I'm almost done," he promised. She grinned at him gratefully and he shrugged, "You guys can sit down if ya want, won't take too much longer." They all glanced at each other before slowly lowering themselves down onto the rough hardwood floor. He snorted to himself. Wasn't _exactly_ what he meant but it worked, he supposed.

The group looked at the eldest impatiently and he cleared his throat, "Um, Kenny?"

"Yeah, Bud?" he replied, continuing to thread through, trying to pick up his pace in the slightest with such an attentive audience keeping their eyes glued on him.

"We got metal."

He paused, cocking his brow and looking down at him confusedly. "Metal? Whaddya mean?"

The child raised his own suspiciously. "You told us last night to put metal in the cart? So stuff wouldn't be stolen?" Kenny's face erupted in light color once again. Well. Apparently his memory wasn't _quite_ as clear as he'd made it out to be. Apparently drunk him liked for him to spew superstitious warnings. But given the figure that he remembered so well, it didn't utterly shock him that he'd thought of telling them something like that.

"Oh really?" Karen smirked, glancing up at her older brother as he tried to bury himself into his work yet again, staunchly ignoring the amusement dancing in her dark eyes. "You told 'em about the metal, Kenny?" she pressed.

"Drop it," he murmured to her subtly and she stifled a small laugh.

The kids glanced around confusedly at the siblings. "Why'd we have t' get metal?" one girl finally pressed. "We haven't ever heard of that."

Kenny forced himself to shrug casually, "It's just a little superstition, that's all, Kids."

"But _why_?" Sarah pressed.

Kenny's head lolled back a bit, looking at his ceiling and taking a deep breath. So he wasn't an angry drunk, he was a talkative one. Good to know, he supposed.

"Fairies," Karen answered the question casually, Kenny locking up slightly before glancing down at her in bewilderment at the nonchalance in her tone.

"Fairies?" a boy repeated. "What's a fairy?"

She grinned, guiding Kenny's hand to keep working on his project. "A magic creature," she elaborated. "Has wings and is super little," she demonstrated with her hands.

' _Not if last night was any indicator_ ,' Ken thought tiredly as he rounded the tip of the tail and started down the opposite side.

Karen continued, "They can't touch metal or they die right away." She pointed to her big brother, "Kenny's been telling me stories 'bout 'em since I was smaller than you," she gestured to Sarah.

The children glanced at each other before looking back at the two of them, curiosity that only a child could harbor glistening deep in six pairs of eyes. "What kind of stories?" one urged.

Karen smirked deviously, flicking Kenny's arm. "Ken can tell it better than I can," she stated. Kenny looked at her with a small scowl and she smiled innocently, knowing well enough that any chance of her older brother staying angry at her was slim to none. "C'mon. I can finish that," she gestured to the tail.

He sighed wearily, scratching at his hair before reluctantly passing the fabric over to her eager hands. "Finish to the end, stuff it, and then you think you can sew it on 'im?" She nodded confidently and began to work, waving him along to address the captive listeners. He glanced at them and blinked before turning back to her. "What story am I tellin' here? Since _you_ apparently call the shots," he drawled.

The girl chuckled, looking up thoughtfully. "The river one," she decided. "It was always my favorite," she added with a sheepish shrug.

He sighed, turning backwards in his stool and leaning against the table, looking at the kids again. "Are you sure you wanna hear this? I ain't very good at makin' up stories."

"We wanna," Sarah assured him, followed by a set of nods surrounding her in agreement.

Kenny looked up at the ceiling again, trying to recollect the story pieces from his youth. He'd made it up for Karen when she was out of commission for nearly a week with a strong flu when he was twelve, trying to do his best to keep her drinking tea and telling her dumb stories to get her through the endless torrent of coughing and sniveling. The story hadn't altered in all the times he'd told her, but he hadn't touched it in nearly seven years. He shook his head. If he missed any details, Karen would no doubt interject, she had a memory like no other when it came to his tales. "All right so," he began slowly. "Like Kare said, fairies use magic. Well… Once upon a time," he drawled, "there was a fairy that liked to be by a stream-"

"River," Karen corrected, Kenny looking at her dryly before turning back.

"River, my bad. She liked to be at the river. And she liked to dance. She'd only go to the river at night, because being out in the open where people could see her in sunlight was so dangerous. So she spent every night there, and she used her magic and her wings so she could dance on the water. She made it so every reflection of starlight was a pebble on the water that she could balance on so she could dance on it…" He paused, shaking his head at his younger self's imagination before pressing onwards. "She did this for a really long time. And then, one day, there was a cloud overhead, and it covered up the starlight as she was about to land on one of her pebbles. So she fell in, and the water soaked her wings so she couldn't get out. So she was trying to swim and screaming for help, hoping one of her fairy friends would hear her," he wriggled his fingers.

One of the girls cocked her head, "They can't swim?"

"Uh… not in this story anyway," he winced. "I haven't been able to ask one myself, so I can't say for sure." Karen chuckled and he flicked her arm lightly before sighing and continuing on. "So anyway. Screaming, drowning, lots of bad stuff," he waved dismissively. "Well there was a boy who heard her while he was trying to get home from the woods. So he ran over and fished her out of the water. She was scared of him, but grateful that he got her out of the river alive."

"Why was she scared?" a boy asked.

He shrugged, "Because humans are dangerous to them. We're a lot bigger and we have a lot of metal on us, so they just like to play it safe. So this fairy was scared, but he _did_ save her and he didn't seem as though he wanted to hurt her. She stuck around a bit while her wings dried off, and she granted him the only gift that she could, and gave him the same magic to dance on the water. They waited for the clouds to clear and she kind of tugged his sleeve," he demonstrated with his own, "and led him out into the shallows of the river. He was scared until he started glowing the same color as her-"

"What color?" Sarah questioned.

Kenny looked over to Karen for the answer and she smirked, "She glowed yellow. Because that's my favorite color," she winked at him and he chuckled, ruffling her hair a bit.

"Right. Yellow. Anyway, she showed him how to balance on the stars, and how to find the reflections big enough for him to be able to dance as easily as she did. And it took him a little while, but soon it was almost like it was natural, and they danced on the river together," he gestured his hand out in a swooping motion dramatically. "But, the boy had some coins in his pocket and had forgotten. He stumbled and one fell out into the water. He picked it up and it brushed on the fairy's leg. It hurt her so much that she freaked out and flew back into the woods.

"He chased after her, apologizing and ya know, just feelin' awful that he accidently hurt her," he winced. "But she was long gone, so he went home."

"…That's it?" the eldest asked flatly.

"Hang on, hang on," Kenny raised his hand a bit. "Patience, Dude, I'm getting' there. It's been a few years okay? My story skills are a bit dusty." Karen shook her head, finishing sewing to the end of the cat tail and turning it right-side out, beginning to take fingerfuls of roving and press it into the fabric. "So he goes home all sad and whatnot," Ken continued. "But it starts being his tradition to go out to the river every night. Even though the fairy left, she didn't take the magic that she gave him, so he could still dance on the water. So he did, he practiced for years, just hoping one day that she would come back.

"He was a good enough dancer to go into the deeper, wider parts of the river, always careful to wait for cloudless nights to do so and saving the shallows for otherwise. Well one clear night, all those years later, the fairy was off dancing by herself at another section of the river. She knew that he was still waiting for her, but was just too afraid of the metal to go back and join him, even though she wanted to just because dancing with a partner is always better," he smirked. "But her leg was still a bit messed up from the coin he'd hit her with, so she was a little off-kilter. And on that night, she fell back into the water when her leg gave out, but because he was off dancing so far away from her, he didn't hear her and she drowned."

"That's awful," one of the kids murmured.

"Gets worse," Karen said casually.

Kenny snorted, "Yeah. When a fairy dies, the magic they had dies with them. So the boy was off dancing in deeper water and the magic wore off and he fell in, too, and he was too far into the river for anyone to hear _him_ needing help. So he ended up drowning just the same…" He glanced at the devastation and the complete fascination over the kids' faces, smirking to himself at the clear memory of the exact same expression that had plastered Karen's own so many years ago. "But don't worry, there's a happy ending," he assured them.

They cocked their heads and he pointed out the window, "You know that purple streak we see in the sky every night?" They all nodded in confusion and he grinned, "That's the river that they made together. Because no metal was going to harm her now, so they could dance together again. So they've been dancing since they both died, and made themselves their own personal river and now they dance on the literal stars."

The eldest snorted, "That's lame."

" _You're_ lame," Kenny pouted childishly. "So sue me I came up with it out of nowhere for my sick sister, it isn't going to be pure poetry." The other kids continued their wide-eyed stares however, Kenny glancing down and blinking at them. "Uh, yes?"

One bit their lip, "So… fairies are good?"

He shrugged, "I-I mean… depends on who you ask. Sometimes people think they're good, sometimes people think they only exist to ruin everything they touch and cause trouble… there's a lot of stories, Kid."

"Where did you hear them?" Sarah questioned.

Karen piped up, "There was an old man who used to live here in town before he died. He told me and Kenny all about 'em."

"Had he seen one?"

Kenny nodded affirmatively, "According to him he did."

The oldest raised his brow, "Do you believe him?"

The blonde opened his mouth a bit, furrowing his brow as he tried to piece together an answer. "Um… Yeah. Yeah I do, actually," he shrugged. "He had no reason to lie to us. He wanted to tell us what happened. Only kids understand this kind of stuff," he gestured at the lot of them.

One of the girls cocked her head, "Have _you_ ever seen one?"

An image of the creature from the night prior flashed in his mind and he gulped, shifting on his stool and rolling his shoulders, trying to relieve some of the stress-tension. "I can't say for sure," he said slowly. "But… I might've. Can't prove it, though," he murmured a bit regretfully, feeling Karen staring at him before continuing to finish up attaching the tail to the cat.

Sarah tucked her hair behind her ear, staring at him sadly, "Why would a fairy take my kitty, though?"

He frowned sympathetically, "Maybe they needed a friend, too," he offered. "But they know they can't ask us for one of ours, so they just take it. Not very nice of them, no, but maybe they just don't trust us or don't understand us enough, ya know?"

She nodded slowly, "You think the metal will keep them out?"

Kenny nodded back, "I do. It's the one thing almost all the stories have in common. Just throw some scraps in with your toys, that'll keep 'em out, I guarantee it," he winked, getting a small smile out of her.

"I think we're done," Karen declared, tugging on the affixed tail a few times. Kenny turned back in his seat, inspecting her work and grinning at her.

"Good job, Kiddo," he praised, getting up to his feet. "Not done _just_ yet, however." He walked to the edge of his table, snagging a pre-cut piece of red silk and snagging the cat from its resting position, carefully tying it a nice, taut bow, the color standing out starkly from the pale yellow of the tiretain and glinting softly in the fading natural light of the outside. He moved over and handed it down to Sarah, smiling at her face lighting up with pure joy at the new friend.

She got to her own feet, clutching it tightly in her little arms and smiling tearfully at him, "Thank you," she worked out, hugging him around his leg.

He grinned wider, patting her head lightly and watching her slowly unwind and go over to hug Karen as well. "It's not a problem," he assured her. "You just be careful with this one, all right?"

The girl nodded, "I will. Thank you," she repeated as the other kids got to their feet.

"Thanks for the story," the oldest nodded with a grin. "Dumb as it was."

Kenny pouted again, "You respect your elders, Kiddo."

He snorted, waving him off and beginning to herd the others out of the building. "Yeah yeah. Thanks for your help."

"Anytime," he nodded, giving them a small wave back as they bid farewell, shutting the door behind them and leaving him and Karen alone in silence.

Karen stared at her older brother as she carefully packed his needle into his pouch beside her on the table. "So… passin' on the stories, huh?"

"I was drunk as fuck," he reminded her dryly. "You're the one who pushed it."

She chuckled, shrugging sheepishly. "I couldn't help it. I love that story and haven't heard it in years."

He rolled his eyes amusedly, "I'll write it down for you, then. I can't believe you _remember_ that tripe," he commented, helping her clean scrap fabric and roving from the table surface.

"It's what we spent most of our childhood talkin' about," she reminded him. "Hard t' forget when it was always there, ya know?" Kenny paused before nodding in agreement, taking a long breath through his nose. He never expected their escape from the realities of home to come slamming back into him like this, though. And he never thought he'd find himself doubting his own damn doubt of all things. "Do you still believe in that stuff?" She asked softly.

He shrugged, "I really don't know. What about you?"

She licked over her lips in thought, winding up thread to stash back onto the proper shelf. "I don't know either," she admitted. "It's nice to think about sometimes though, ya know? Try to think about somethin' else bein' nearby that isn't home? Just somethin' completely different… I don't know, it's just a nice thought now and then I suppose. Whether it's fairies or just some kind of animal we haven't seen before. At least it'd be different."

Kenny let the notion settle on him, letting himself linger in the idea that had plagued him for so long. A part of him hated that Karen felt the same, didn't want her to be as miserably stuck in a rut as he was. But to know that he wasn't alone in the yearning made it a bit easier to accept, to not feel as guilty as he had been the last several years for wanting to break free from the mold and find something new. He twisted his lips as he shoved the last of the roving fibers into the hide bag, glancing towards the silhouette of the trees far off in the background, blackened against a rose and gold sky. He sighed, nodding to himself. Revisiting a tale of the past renewed him in a sense, let him bathe in the sentiment he'd been trying to escape but had been unable to. Something _was_ out there, and regardless of what it might be, he had to find out what.


	6. A Curious Find

Making a wedding gown was far less complex and daunting than Kenny had believed upon first conception, initially finding himself in a whirlwind of anxiety of messing up such a treasured piece of the occasion. He'd been plagued with nightmares over his first order when he was nineteen from a young woman looking for the best prices. At the time, Levick's hands were too shaky for the delicate intricacies of such a garment, merely settling himself down with a set of worn farmer's trousers and watching Kenny with still eagle-sharp eyes. More than once the blonde had voiced his apprehension, fearing the sleeves too droopy; What if they caught fire on the ceremonial candle? What if the subtle line of beading parading the neckline caught on the groom's formal robes and pulled, tearing the gown right down the middle and exposing the poor bride for all her audience to see? Levick had cackled his way into a coughing fit at Kenny's ridiculous notions, assuring him time and again that he was perfectly capable of something of this magnitude, that he'd done enough work in his time to easily craft a maiden the dress of her dreams. He certainly hadn't believed the old man, only finally shedding his fretting after the woman had long since had her ceremony and sent other women to the shop in recommendation.

" _You see?"_ Levick had slapped him on the back after the two of them secured three more orders for the following spring. _"You know what you're doin', Ken. Don't trust your mind, trust your hands,"_ he'd grabbed the boy's hands and shaken them pointedly. _"They're what's gonna keep you makin' people happy. Your mind is there for makin' ideas and that's where it needs to stop, ya understand me?"_

Kenny chuckled, shaking his head at the man's voice ringing so clearly in his ears as he adjusted a covered wooden dress form, a small geared lever at the bottom cranked with his foot rising it upon a sturdy pole. He clicked his tongue, knowing that his customer's shoulder was level with four inches above his elbow, raising it to meet its height requirement. He reached behind him and snagged a marked ribbon from the table, lightly penned with her waist and bust size. Slowly he wrapped it around the bust, noting the nearly six inches of overlap and humming to himself. He grasped a handful of precut fabric from the table, slowly slipping it over the dress form around the chest. Smirking, he couldn't help but recall teasing Levick for weeks when he'd meticulously crafted the form after his old one was ravaged by insects, joking that he spent more time on perfecting the shape of the bust than he had the height mechanism. Levick had merely shrugged and laughed with him, reminding him it was their job to _accentuate_ a person's form for attire like this, so perfection was required.

The tailor sighed to himself, continuing to slip on piece after piece, slowly building up the side with layers of specifically measured cotton. They smelled of lye and the heat of the sun, brought inside just minutes before after Karen spent the day prior washing them in the river to clean them of the musty smell of Kenny's last project. He finally built up the size a decent enough amount to measure again, wrapping his ribbon back around and meeting the line right with the end of his tape. Silently, he said a thank you, hating playing the seemingly never-ending game of tearing off and putting back on layers to make it the correct size. He dropped the long, white strand around the waistline, finding her measurement and gauging the few inches needed wrapped around the torso.

Kenny grunted, grabbing the waist fabric and beginning to pin layers around the midsection. He folded his lips down on an array of pins, carefully moving around in a predatory circle as he scrupulously measured out his attachments.

Karen and their mother broke from their embroidery to watch him with amused expressions creeping onto their lips. "Ya doin' all right over there, Ken?" Karen teased.

He glanced up from his work, dropping the pins in his lips to his hand and shrugging. "Good as I can be. How's it goin' over there?"

"Slowly, but we're almost done with the second t' last shirt," Carol informed him.

Kenny grinned, "Good. Can either of you spare a break at all?"

"Oh please, let me," Karen begged, getting a loud snort out of the other two.

The tailor jerked his head back and she hopped from her stool, hurrying over beside him. "Can you take my coin pouch and go hit the merchant's? He has my silk in but I need t' start gettin' stuff set up with the slip."

She smiled and nodded, reaching over and snagging his pouch from his beltline. "And you don't want to deal with Cartman?" she asked coolly.

"Well, that's a given," he smirked. "Don't let him bully you. The price is one haithin, that's it that's all. He tries to pull anymore out of you, you come get me. Got it?"

Karen nodded affirmatively, "I got it. You have fun," she waved listlessly, turning on her heel and heading towards the front door. She doubled back as it swung open, clutching her hand to her chest and laughing in shock at Clyde and Wendy staring at her in equal surprise. "You two scared me!"

Wendy smiled kindly, "Sorry, Karen. Didn't mean to." They stepped aside as Karen continued her path out the door, giving them a small goodbye before exiting the shop quickly. Kenny couldn't exactly blame her for the hastened retreat, Tavin knew if he wasn't running the shop, he'd probably be the exact same way all hours of the day.

"Hey, Guys," he greeted, pinning the last layer to his form and re-measuring. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Clyde hiked his brow amusedly, "We're a pleasure, huh?"

"That's called good customer service, Clyde," he said dryly. "Maybe ya should learn it. Feldon can't hold your hand forever."

He scoffed, he and Wendy walking up to his table and snagging stools, plopping down and watching him fiddling with a premade slip, trying to shake off stray fibers. "You realize that I make most of the sales at the smithy, right?"

Kenny shrugged dismissively. "Can't be that difficult t' walk up to a guy and say 'are ya hard? Why not? Well here's somethin' to help with that'."

Wendy laughed, rolling her eyes. "And I can ask them if they're hot, right?"

"Atta girl," he winked, pulling the slip over the form and arranging it to hang comfortably. "And I just have t' ask if they need some stiffener in their lives. We've got the trifecta, guys. We should combine the businesses."

Clyde snorted. "Yeah sure. They can get a sword, a pair of pants, and a candle in one stop. Because who doesn't need all of those at once?"

"Stop ruining my dreams, Clyde," he pouted childishly. He smirked at the both of them chortling, moving to begin cutting his marked white silk lying on the table. "So, seriously, what's up?"

Wendy shrugged, "Honestly? Just bored. My father is starting the week's slaughter so I don't have my tallow just yet."

"And Feldon had to shut down shop for the rest of the day," Clyde added. "Not enough iron for some orders so we gotta wait until tomorrow's shipment."

Kenny scoffed, "Ya coulda just said you wanted to see me. Spare my sensitive feelin's and whatnot."

Wendy slowly cocked her brow with a smirk, "We came to see you, didn't we? We could've just as easily gone home."

"Home isn't nearly as entertaining as I am," he boasted teasingly.

"Yeah, nothing more entertaining than watching you play with a dress," Clyde rolled his eyes.

"Ay," he pointed at him firmly. "One day, a dress like this? It'll be yours. I'll make you look _gorgeous_."

He scowled, "Fuck you."

"Not until the wedding night, Sugar," he winked, Wendy putting her head down on the table and twittering loudly as Clyde glared at him, face going rouge.

"Yeah, like you're one to wait for the wedding night," he drawled.

Kenny sputtered with laughter, "What? Want me to fuck ya sooner?"

"Kenneth," Carol warned coolly from her table, not taking her eyes from the task at hand. Clyde and Wendy looked at her before turning back amusedly to the blonde, who pouted.

"I'm a grown man, Ma," he reminded her flatly.

She raised her brow, slipping her thread down into her stretched sleeve. "I don't care how old ya are. Ya don't talk like that in front of your mother."

" _Yeah, Ken_ ," Clyde mocked, getting a sharp glare from the tailor. "Be more _respectful_."

Kenny twisted his lips, putting down his shears and leaning closer towards him across the table. "Just because you don't even know what I'm talkin' about, it don't make it _disrespectful_."

The brunette stared at him wryly. "Yeah. I obviously have no idea what you could possibly mean."

"Figured ya wouldn't recognize when you're doin' it through all the tears," he said thickly, watching the offense twist onto Clyde's face before Wendy waved her hands between the both of them.

"All right, boys, calm down now," she cooed. "No need to argue over nothing."

Kenny cocked his brow at her, "You argue almost as much as Fatboy. I don't think you're allowed to weigh an opinion on what's too much disagreement."

She crossed her arms and stared at him primly. "When I argue, I have a _reason_ behind it. I don't just throw out petty insults like all of _you_."

"Well aren't _we_ superior?" Clyde flicked her lightly. "Just admit it, Wends. Ya grew up with us, and ya argue like us. No shame in that."

"Oh trust me, there's _plenty_ of shame in that idea," she flicked him back. "Hate to break it to both of you, but our group isn't exactly the most revered in town."

Kenny snorted, "Well we're not the most hated, so I think we can live with that." He paused, twisting his lips, "Well, four out of five of us aren't the most hated. Can't exactly speak for Cartman."

Wendy cleared her throat, shifting awkwardly, "Considering Token is the one telling people their businesses can't survive and taking their taxes? I think only three of us are in the clear." The men looked at each other for a moment, giving nothing more than an agreeing shrug. That was just life in a small town. Any job that didn't only provide assets was nothing more than a stain on the collective's mind.

Kenny sighed, finishing shearing a side of his pattern and pulling it loose from the remaining silk, walking back over to his form and beginning to pin it to the hip. "You and him doin' all right, Wends?" he questioned quietly, lining up the edge of the beginning skirt to its starting point and watching it cascade onto the floor in a dully glinting sweep.

She bit her lip gently, fingers finding Kenny's spool of thread and gently rolling the bobbin around her thin hands. "Yeah, we're doing all right. I went to dinner at his house again yesterday."

"Uh oh," Clyde commented, leaning his head into his palm and staring at her. "That tone's never good."

The woman sighed and nodded. "Same as it always was. They're dressed as though a king is coming to dinner and I show up with missed tallow on my shoe…" she looked up to see Kenny watching her sympathetically and she waved him off. "Honestly, I should be used to it by now. His mother asked me if I wanted to inherit my family's shop…" she paused, shoulders sinking.

Kenny narrowed his eyes suspiciously, "And you said?"

"Well, it's complicated," she began wearily. "Because I had two options: Either I lie and say yes and they give Token this look of 'do you want to be tied to that' or I say no and I seem ungrateful for the opportunity that I could have."

Clyde nudged her softly, "So what did you say?"

She shrugged, "I lied and said yes. And his mother just… gave me this look," her face twisted a bit. "And at first I thought it was because of the kind of shop, but then she spouts off this 'are you _sure_ you don't want to just be a housewife' bullshit," she growled bitterly. "So apparently, according to _them_ , my options are either marry rich and sit around making blankets all day, or I'm nothing but a dirty butcher's daughter."

"Hey," Carol spoke up firmly from her side, the three of them turning to see her standing from her station and walking towards her. She crossed her arms, looking at Wendy firmly. "Don't you let them push ya 'round. Just 'cause they have the money don't mean shit."

Wendy cringed, tucking her long hair behind her ear. "I don't think they're trying to push me around exactly," she said slowly. "I think they just really think Token and I are going to… end up married and they want him to have a nice little wife to come home to."

Kenny winced, "Wends, that ain't you."

"I _know_ ," she groaned, leaning her head back exhaustedly. "I just don't know what to do."

Carol continued staring at her, reaching forward and maternally petting her head, Wendy sinking into the comforting gesture. "Just what did Token say when she said that?"

She paused, moving her head back down and staring at the spool still dancing in her fingers. "Nothing," she muttered. "Just gave me this look of 'I'm sorry'. And he apologized when he was walking me home… but I don't think he's opposed to his mother's ideals."

The woman scowled, "Linda doesn't know how to be a workin' woman," she said firmly. "She was born in the city and married young 'n rich. Don't you go listenin' t' her, Wendy."

Kenny nodded in agreement, "You hafta do what's right for you, Babe. If they make you that uncomfortable…" he trailed off, looking to Clyde for a way to gently broach the subject.

The brunette turned to Wendy and shrugged, "Dump Token," he said bluntly, Kenny rubbing his forehead with an irritated sigh in the background. Leave it to Clyde. The blacksmith shrugged at Wendy's confused stare, "Look, you're unhappy, so end it."

"But I'm not unhappy with _him_ , I'm unhappy with his parents," she argued.

"Are ya _sure_ you're not unhappy with him?" Kenny winced. "Wends, we love both of ya t' death but the only time I see ya giddy around 'im is when yer drinkin'."

She shrugged sheepishly, "We've been together long enough that I don't have to be constantly giddy," she reminded him. "I mean, six months is a lot of time… right?"

Carol shook her head, "Oh, Hon. I didn't stop gettin' giddy 'round Stuart until I had Kenny and he started changin'," she gestured to the blonde who very subtly hung his head guiltily. "And that was 'bout six _years_ we'd been together," she winced.

"Everybody's different, Ma," Kenny said softly, watching Wendy beginning to frantically fiddle with the bobbin, grey eyes seeming to sing the somber tune of her predicament as they flittered about. "Wendy," he said firmly, getting her attention locked back on him. "Look. If ya still love Token, then talk to him about it," he urged. "Tell 'im that his folks are drivin' ya nuts. You don't deserve that kind of treatment."

She gnawed lightly on her tongue. "I just don't think his parents know any better, you know? Just how they both grew up and how they live… I don't think they understand how we do things on this end of the village."

Clyde shrugged, "No, they probably don't. Token does try though," he reminded her, getting a small nod out of the woman.

"He's just not very good at it," Carol remarked, shaking her head. A part of her was always torn with Kenny's friendship to the well-off clerk. He'd always been good to her son, but his looks of confusion and pity from the few times he'd entered their home certainly weren't as subtle as he may have hoped they were.

Kenny clicked his tongue a bit, "Well, no. He ain't. But with parents like that, can ya really blame him?"

Carol just sighed, smiling sadly at her youngest son. "I s'pose not." She looked back at Wendy and patted her head a final time. "Wendy, Honey, ya gotta do what's right for you. Either way, you're gonna hafta talk to Token about it."

The woman glanced at the three staring at her pitiably and she leaned her head into her palm, nodding softly. She glanced between Clyde and Kenny tiredly, "You do realize that if I _do_ decide to call it off with Token, either him or I aren't going to be around, right?"

"We'll trade off with ya," Kenny smirked lightly. "And you were here first, so you get first call."

She chuckled softly, "I appreciate that. Thank you."

Clyde wrapped an arm around her shoulder and shook her lightly, "We got your back, Wendy."

"Clyde, he's _your_ best friend," she reminded him flatly.

He paused before shrugging, "Yeah, but you always help me patch things up with Alice when I fuck up, so you have the power here."

She snorted, leaning into his arm and nodding. "Thanks. Glad to know I serve such a valuable purpose in the drama that is your love life."

"Well it sure as shit wouldn't be _Kenny_ helping me," he gestured to the tailor who grinned cheekily.

"Why? Because I'm just so damn attractive and suave that Alice would forget you existed and beg me for _my_ favor? Or would you be fighting her for the opportunity to win my hand?" he batted his lashes. Clyde groaned and rolled his eyes dramatically and Kenny pouted childishly.

Carol chuckled, moving to shake out her fingers, aching from nonstop threading. "Ken, you be nice now."

"He's not nice to _me_ ," he whined. He moved over towards her and leaned down, putting his head pathetically on his shoulder. "Ma, punish Clyde for not loving me."

Clyde shook his head, "Remember who makes your needles and thimbles, McCormick."

"Threatening the livelihood of myself and my lovely mother?" he feigned a gasp, hugging around her and just _feeling_ her rolling her eyes amusedly. "Clyde, how could you say such a thing? You'd deprive this wonderful woman of income?!"

The brunette looked from his dramatics to his mother and smirked, "No offense, Mrs. McCormick, but your son is the most extravagant man I've ever met."

"You 'n me both," she concurred, raising her hand and patting Kenny's head.

Kenny flicked her shoulder lightly before cocking a sly brow at Clyde. "Oh, Clyde. You don't know just how _extravagant_ certain parts of me can get," he purred, yelping as Carol slapped him over the back of the head. He whined, backing away from her and pouting, rubbing the victim spot. "Ma! Not nice!"

She sighed tiredly and rubbed her temple, "Ken, just work on your damn dress-" She stopped as the front door flew open, the group turning to see Stuart and Kevin stalking in with baskets in their arms, Stuart's face twisted in anger. "Stuart?" she questioned softly, seeing Kenny slowly edging back towards her, their guests frozen at the sight that they knew well enough could so easily spell turmoil.

He grunted, plopping his basket on the table atop Kenny's silk. The blonde's face twisted in rage, "Pops! Not on the damn merchandise!" he snapped, snagging the crate off the delicate material and meeting faces with his father, both of them scowling at each other.

"Calm down, both of you," Kevin said tiredly, placing his own carrier onto the floor and snagging Ken's to put down beside of it. "Dad's just… not happy."

"Really? Couldn't tell," Kenny muttered, Stuart sneering at him before his face dropped into nothing more than a mean frown and waved him off.

"You'd be angry, too. Every single one of ya," he gestured around the group.

Kenny looked between the two other men and narrowed his eyes. "Why? What happened? Everyone okay?"

"Everyone's _fine_ ," Kevin raised his hands reassuringly.

"Well not _everyone_ ," Stuart snapped, the collective recoiling at the sharp bite in his tone. "Someone's out there fuckin' doin' who _knows_ what. Fuckin' witchcraft. Probably some fuckin' kids…" he turned and glared darkly at Kenny. "You been messin' around with sacrifices, Boy?"

He blinked in bewilderment. "Sacrifices? Witchcraft? What the _fuck_ are you talking about?!"

Kevin stepped forward, pulling Kenny and Carol both back subtly, motioning for Clyde and Wendy to slowly move away from the temperamental man. "We don't _know_ if it's that," he slowly elaborated. "But we _did_ find somethin' awful strange in the woods by the mulberry bushes," he gestured to the collection stored in their baskets.

"What was it?" Wendy asked, her eyes wide with curiosity, Clyde's beaming all the same.

Stuart threw up his hands and waved them around dramatically, Carol, Kenny, and Kevin letting out a subtle flinch that the three of them silently prayed the others hadn't noticed. "Someone's out there puttin' shit in rings! Looks like they're makin' an offer t' someone!"

Clyde raised his brow, "Like Tavin?"

"Tavin doesn't need a pile of crap!" Stuart spat, the brunette recoiling.

"Calm it," Kenny seethed. "They're guests, fucking act like they're customers, will ya?" Stuart bared his teeth for a moment before just sighing and rubbing his forehead.

"Right. Sorry, Kids," he waved dismissively towards them.

Wendy gulped, "It's fine, Mr. McCormick." She glanced towards the other three huddled together, noting Kenny and Kevin both with an arm in front of their mother and she shook her head sadly. "But what did you find?" she pressed.

"It was so weird," Kevin said, face screwing up confusedly. He and Kenny noted the tense anger dropping from Stuart and finally moved from their positions, Kevin turning to address the audience. "Now I don't know if it _was_ some kinda sacrificial thing, but it sure looked like it."

"For the fucking love of Tavin, what _was it_?!" Kenny groaned, reaching the end of his patience and fast.

"Mushrooms," he said bluntly.

The tailor hiked his brow suspiciously. "Mushrooms," he repeated. "You two _do_ realize they're pretty common… right?"

Kevin shook his head, "Not these ones. They… well… they were grown a special way. In a ring."

Wendy and Clyde looked at each other in befuddlement, Kenny's eyes slowly widening at his brother's words. "A… a ring?"

Stuart nodded, "Yeah. Like someone went out there and planted 'em themselves. No others around 'em. Just in the middle of the bushes in that little clearing. Round as the sun, little smaller than our tables," he demonstrated the shape with his hands.

"What does that have t' do with a sacrifice?" Carol questioned.

"There was… a lot of _stuff_ in the middle," Kevin elaborated. "Books and toys and broken bottles. It was the strangest thing I ever saw."

Kenny went rigid, his eyes widening and breath hitching. Very particular worn parchment papers from the book under his pillow danced in his mind, screaming vehemently at him to remind him that he knew _exactly_ what they were referring to. He looked down, remembering that silhouetted figure from the week prior. _'Holy shit, was that_ _ **really**_ _what I saw?!'_ he thought frantically. "You said toys?" he mumbled, not even sure if his voice was coming through loud enough for the group to hear.

Kevin nodded, "Yeah. Just little stuff. Saw a ball, couple of tops. Nothin' special. But so much broken glass," he murmured. "It was so strange."

"Sounds like it," Wendy agreed, staring at them and cocking her head, brow raising at Kenny's suddenly tensed figure. "I'm sure that it's just some kids."

"Some kids doin' _what_ , exactly?" Stuart leaned against the embroidery table, crossing his arms and frowning. "That ain't any kind of game I played, I'll tell ya that."

"And what kids grow mushrooms?" Clyde added.

Carol shrugged, "Farmer kids? Maybe the Hiatt's kids got their hands on some of their seeds."

Wendy scrunched her face, "Do they grow mushrooms at the farm? I thought those were imported from Telona."

"Well we gotta have _some kind_ growin' around here," Kevin said, looking up in thought. "They didn't look like the normal kind though."

"How so?" Carol questioned.

"They were blue," he answered with a shrug. "Pretty little things, I'll say that. But they didn't look right."

Clyde blinked, "Hope ya didn't eat one."

"I wouldn't go near that portal to blasphemy if ya paid me," Stuart said firmly. "I don't know what these kids are doin', but it ain't right. Tavin ain't gonna like it one bit."

Carol cleared her throat, "Well, that's for Tavin to decide…" she glanced over at Kenny, still staring at the ground in thought, his mind racing in a frenzied panic and wonder. "Ken? Hon? Ya all right?"

He snapped his head back up, blinking at her rapidly. "What? Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. Just… tryin' t' think of an explanation myself," he chuckled awkwardly, beating back the thoughts screaming drastically that he didn't _need_ to think because he _damn well knew_.

Wendy hummed thoughtfully, "Well, probably some kids just trying something new. I'm sure they'll grow out of it and be back to the proper ways of the andell," she said confidently. "Isn't that right, Kenny?"

"Yeah, yeah," he nodded briskly. "I'm sure…" he paused, glancing around the room. "Hey let's uh… let's not mention it to Karen, hm?"

Clyde cocked his brow, "Uh, why?"

"I don't want her freaking out," he winced. "Ya know how she is with her prayers and whatnot."

Stuart nodded affirmatively, "Last thing we need is for her to join in on this little cult they got goin'. No one says a word to her, we clear?"

"Clear," Kevin muttered, looking at Kenny suspiciously. He knew better than anyone that Kenny didn't keep things from Karen. His stomach twisted slightly, wondering if Ken knew more about this 'cult' than he was letting on, saying a silent, small prayer for if his suspicions rang with truth, for Kenny to snap out of it soon. But he also knew that prying at him wouldn't get him anywhere, it'd just force his brother further down into his stubborn ways. He was a McCormick through and through, after all.

The blonde didn't see his watchful eye, too busy staring at the ground once more and biting his thumbnail. This was too coincidental. No other explanation seemed to make a lick of sense. A mysterious thief and toys, a literal _fairy ring_ with unique mushrooms… he shook his head, blue eyes flickering up to look out the window through long lashes. The afternoon sun fell across the woods, illuminating shades of green and brown, tantalizing him. But no. He'd have to wait. Wait until the shop was closed, until he could garner up a strong enough excuse to venture out that way without being pursued. He took a long, shuddery breath, letting his eyes slip closed and see those _wings_ spreading once more.

Well, he'd wanted answers after all. And they seemed to be nestled right in the mulberry patch, and they were waiting just for him.


	7. Within the Mulberry Patch

Closing time just couldn't come soon enough.

Forcing himself to bury his efforts in a bundle of silk had proved to be no easy task. On any other day, it'd be natural enough for him to get lost in his work, only able to pry himself away when Karen announced that their candle had finally dipped past the tenth line etched into the side and they could begin to pack their materials at long last. But today? Not a chance. Kenny kept his eyes flickering back and forth between that damnable pillar of wax, cursing time for not cooperating with his sense of urgency. But then again, that's just always how it was, wasn't it?

He blew his bangs out of his face, snagging a long strand of moss-shaded silk and dropping down onto his knees, eye-level with the cinch of the skirt. He hummed through his nose, reaching between a midline split, pinning the color between two curtains of glossy white. He backed up and cocked his head, snatching a rudimentary drawing from the table, recalling his drawing session with the customer as best he could. She wanted elegance but something _different_ , same as any maiden who wandered into his shop if he was being honest. Blue eyes flitted between his sketch and the product, nodding slowly. He glanced up at the bodice, stunningly adorned with vibrant, golden petals embroidered days before by the girls. He'd sent Clyde off with a small order for intricate metal beading for him to paint and sew, the blacksmith more than happy to be given such a task. He'd always had a fondness for losing himself in the midst of a simple, but time-consuming job, after all.

"Girls, whatcha think?" he called back, hearing Karen and Carol moving from their stools and coming over to him as he got back onto his feet. He slipped extra pins back into the pouch on his hip, quickly closing it again as they approached.

Carol grinned, "It'll look better once we have the sleeves on."

"Well, _yeah_ ," he rolled his eyes. "But as of now?" he glanced down at Karen, elbowing her lightly. "C'mon you're my coordination expert. Anythin' we can do better?"

Karen twisted her lips, stepping closer and scrutinizing the gown up and down. She hummed, pointing at the bodice. "Can you alter this?"

"I can do anything," he crossed his arms and cocked a boastful brow. "Why? What're you thinkin'?"

She placed a careful finger on a side seam. "What about ripping the sides and puttin' more of the silk in there? Give it more color," she shrugged. "Ya bought all that silk, may as well use it."

He nodded slowly, glancing between the remainder and the bodice stepping beside her, leaning down to her height and blowing out a long stream of air. "I'm usin' some on the cuffs of the sleeves, but I think you're right. It'd help it pop more."

"And it'll emphasize her shape," Carol added.

"Right," he nodded again. He gestured to the waistline, "Stop the stripe at the skirt or keep it flowin' down?" he asked Karen.

She cocked her head thoughtfully, "Stop at the skirt. She's not a festival pole."

Kenny snorted, "True. All right, I'll tackle that tomorrow…" he glanced back towards their candle, creeping so close to their time that he could taste it. He bit his cheek, "Where are Pops n' Kevin?"

"They're at home mashin' the berries," Carol informed him. "Why?"

"Feel like callin' it quits early?" he asked hopefully. "I kind of have an errand to run."

Karen raised her brow, "An errand? What're we missing?"

He waved his hand dismissively, "I'm just gonna go see if I can find a substitute for the low woad supply out in the woods. I heard there's some variety of elder leaves out there I can use."

She perked up, "I can come with ya!"

Carol shook her head, "Karen, I need yer help at home with supper."

Karen groaned and pouted, stalking back over to their table and beginning to cover their materials. "Fiiiine,"she drawled. "Don't want t' git hit by a thorn bush anyway," she grumbled.

Kenny chuckled, "Maybe next time, Kare." She let out a _hmph_ and continued her work. Kenny glanced over at his mother looking at him suspiciously. "Ma, come out with me," he folded in his finger as he walked towards and out the front door. He waited for her to cross the threshold, the woman closing the door behind her and crossing her arms sternly.

"What are you _really_ doing?" she asked warily.

"Lookin' for plants," he insisted. "Ma, Cartman is _robbing us_. I can't keep up with the prices for our dyein' stuff. I gotta find some alternatives. So I'm just gonna scavenge around. Make a hobby of it maybe," he grinned softly, hoping that he was a lot more adept at lying than he was when he was younger.

She stared at him and hummed. "Just… awful _strange_ yer wantin' t' do this after your father and brother tell ya a wild tale 'bout somethin' out there."

He shrugged, "It inspired me. I mean, blue mushrooms? I ain't ever seen that before, neither have any of us," he gestured around. "That's means there's more stuff out there than we know about, right? So there's a chance that I have a goldmine just _waitin'_ for me."

Carol nodded slowly, the words making perfect sense, but mother's intuition just stomping around inside of her insisting that something Kenny was telling her was _off_. But she also knew better. He was a grown man and he was going to do as he pleased. He didn't even _need_ to tell her a story, he very easily could have just taken off without a word. "Just… be careful," she requested softly.

"Aw, Ma," he winked, moving up and kissing her cheek. "I think I can handle me some plants. Can you and Kare close down the shop by yourselves?"

She smiled and nodded, "Of course. Hang on for one moment," she requested, turning back and walking into the shop. Kenny cocked his brow, waiting for her to reappear. She did so quickly with a satchel in her hand, passing it off to him. "Just in case ya find somethin'."

He grinned, slipping it over his shoulder, "Thanks. I'll be back 'round supper, I'm sure."

"Better be," she chuckled, waving to him and heading back into the shop.

The smile dropped from his face, Kenny quickly turning on his heel and heading across the main road, on a beeline right towards the fields. A hand reached up and snagged his satchel handle, fingers digging into the worn cotton and a gulp steadily making its way down his throat. He just had to be sure, but he didn't know what it was he could be walking in to.

If it was anything like the book had told him, he could be walking into an ambush. Then again, the book also told him that these creatures were supposed to be barely halfway up his shin, so he wasn't entirely sure of just what he could believe. But the rings were a recurrent theme, a mystical marvel discovered all over the land from what Meryl had heard. However, the facts were never quite the same; Some claimed them to be created by fairies dancing over the grass. Some determined them to be a trap, a way to lure too-curious humans into their snare and hold them in place until death.

But no matter the purpose, the creation, the _meaning_ , the only substantial element was that it was a widely accepted belief that they _were_ linked to the creatures. And to Kenny, that's really all that mattered in the end.

He sunk guiltily, tromping over grass and heading towards the reeds, glancing back and forth for anyone watching him going on his strange, outwards journey. A part of him really had wanted Karen to tag along, for her to be able to see with him just what it was they could be the first to discover… But that pesky doubt rang so loudly in the back of his mind there was no way he could in good conscious lead his little sister out into the unknown. After all, some claimed mythical creatures to be nothing more than good natured spirits, and there were some that believed them to be bloodthirsty and vengeful. And without a good, stable example, he certainly wasn't going to let Karen be in danger of a threat that he didn't even know if _he_ could handle.

A tiny little pest barely larger than his hand? Sure, not a problem. But something taller than _she was_? Not a chance. Ken couldn't even be sure if he could protect _himself_ , let alone the both of them. He'd have to do the initial survey, determine if there was anything even there for them to be excited about. Though, with the descriptions that Kevin and his father had come back with, something was certainly in the air that rang with promise. It was just _too_ coincidental. Spawning from the same wooded enclosure that Meryl had so long ago had his first encounter? Something that matched up so _perfectly_ with the tales the man had gathered over his years?

Kenny stoutly refused to believe that this was something ordinary.

He made his way through the reeds, grateful for the days of not being able to see out past the stalks being long behind him. The world sure seemed smaller when one grew, the field not nearly as vast as he seemed to recall it being. He thought his treks with Karen would last for _hours_ , but it seems as though it was barely a ten-minute adventure from one side to the other. And this time, he didn't have a _specific_ image of what he'd find.

There were no fireflies he was tromping towards, no particular berry as he'd sent the boys to fetch. No, no. He was dealing with an anomaly. Something that he merely knew the basic _shape of_. He winced, hitting the edge of the forest and gulping, putting his hand on the trunk of an evergreen as hesitation slammed into him. He could be dealing with a monstrosity. Something with sharp teeth and a taste for lost souls wandering about in its home.

He glanced back towards the town lingering in the distance and frowned. He'd never let himself live it down if he turned back now. The concept would eat him alive that he'd let his chance of confirmation slip through his fingers. Rolling his shoulders back and taking a deep breath, he crossed into the woods, instantly hitting crackling twigs beneath his feet and falling into the shroud of the leaved canopy. He could hear the twitter of birds, singing freely as they swooped from one branch to the next, biting his lip and trying to lighten his leather steps to fall under their melody. He clutched his bag tighter, chest aching as his heart pounded madly. The apprehension and the uncertainty was far worse than he'd imagined it could be. This could so _easily_ turn from innocent curiosity into the gravest mistake of his life… But it had to be done. Nine-year-old him would never forgive him for passing up this opportunity if he did.

He veered slightly to the left, remembering well enough all the journeys he'd made for the patch of mulberries at Levick's request. It was one of the few things that they could get on their own, and a rich, deep red color fabric was almost always needed on hand. He hummed under his breath, knowing well enough he'd never seen anything so odd hidden in the mess of bushes, having ventured there so many times. Why now? Why would this creature suddenly decide that berries were its best cover? Perhaps it merely wanted a quick, convenient snack. Kenny shook his head, knowing that guessing their dietary habits was ridiculous.

After all, for all he knew, he was going to be looking at a cannibal within a few minutes.

The thought nearly made him freeze before he took another breath, angrily letting it expand his chest before continuing onward. He was being childish. Completely unhinged. Living a sheltered one-town life certainly wasn't doing him any sort of favor, riddling him with a nonstop array of horrifying scenarios. He groaned to himself, glancing up and seeing the block of green in the distance, slowing his steps and coming to a halt. He ground his lip between his teeth, looking back and forth for any signs of trouble, keeping his breathing quiet and steady to hear approaching danger.

A brief moment of silence persuaded him onwards, moving to hide himself behind a tall, thick tree. He shook his head at himself, fingers scraping against the bark, convincing himself that he was truly in this moment before slowly slipping around the trunk and making way for another. He was probably being a bit _too_ cautious, but as his mother always told him: Be safe, not dead. He intended to honor her wishes.

He continued pressing forward, slipping smoothly behind trunks, avoiding cracking more twigs under his feet than needed, giving a silent thank you to Tavin for allowing this to happen while the leaves remained stemming from the branches. Stomping through those after they'd crackled and fallen would be the equivalent of walking up to whatever this was and screaming like a madman.

He finally edged up to a large tree close enough to just barely see within the center of the mulberry patch, eyes catching the slightest glimpse of a bright, sapphire shape. His breath hitched. Kevin was right, that was _far_ too strange.

Kenny gulped, dropping down to his knees and taking another deep breath to steady himself. He slowly counted to three, making his way towards the bushes in a timid crawl. He swung the satchel over his back, not willing to let it drag and give him away. Fingers reached up to the lush leaves, slowly picking back a few, listening closely for any foreign noises. Hearing nothing, he pushed himself forward, reaching to the outermost branch and pulling it down in the slightest, glancing through the disarrayed obstructions to peer on the other side. Nothing but the clearing far as he could tell, letting out a quiet sigh of relief. He licked over his lips, carefully pushing himself through limbs and into the shrubbery to get a better view, peering through the sunlight mottling over his shaded face to the eye-catching mushrooms laid out just as his brother and father had described them.

A perfect circle, lined with sporadic, vivid blue in a clearing of dirt and grass, cleaned of sticks and debris. All fallen twigs from other trees hovering near the ring within the patch were seemingly swept out, thrown casually to keep out of the collection that someone had procured. Kenny narrowed his eyes, leaning forward just a bit more to see the items so neatly arranged.

Books and strewn papers were stacked adroitly into a pile atop a piece of cloth. Another pile was laden with those mismatched toys he'd been told of, catching glimpses of small, wooden trinkets lying atop one another at the forefront of larger items. He narrowed his eyes confusedly at the seemingly random selection, as though peering into a spoiled child's toy crate. Glancing past them, a sharp glisten caught his eye, finding himself staring at a vast array of jars and broken shards of glass arranged carefully; still assembled pieces used to hold counterparts and dancing brilliantly as leaves moved the sunlight hovering above them.

"What the _fuck_ ," he whispered, shaking his head. This was bizarre. _Beyond_ bizarre.

He froze, hearing the sound of footsteps off on the other side of the patch and folded his lips in, biting them sharply as he forced himself to remain perfectly still. He could hear his heart hammering away, palms sweating and eyes burning with the need to blink.

' _Stay calm, stay still,'_ he chided himself, carefully moving his fingers off of branches and pulling them back towards himself, leaning up in the slightest for the best unobscured view he could secure. He put his hand over his mouth and nose as the footsteps drew nearer, managing to subdue a flinch as a figure came over the bushes and back into the patch.

Kenny's eye automatically drew to the long, glistening appendages springing from the creature's back; translucent and shaded a vivid green. They flapped once, twice; hitting the sunlight just well enough for Kenny to catch the veins spreading throughout them, the long lines of cartilage shown so clearly under the unique, thin coloring, spread about like the branch of a fern. He gulped, jaw trembling as he forced himself to look up at the owner, blinking rapidly at a surprising sight: A very _human_ face.

They couldn't have been older than Kenny himself if he had to guess, giving off the air of adventurous youth and thought-out purpose. Gently looped curls of cramoisy rested upon their head, a jade scarf wrapped in behind fluffy bangs and secured lazily around their scalp. A loose tangerine tunic was situated over a lean, lithe form, another green scarf tied taut around their waist with a long, thin bag dangling from the belt leading towards bare legs and feet. Wide, beaming eyes too far away for Kenny to study were open, staring with a smile at a paper in their hand, twisting and turning it, holding it up to the sun to see through the parchment in awe.

The creature hummed; A gentle, thoughtful tone before hopping into their ring and settling down onto the sides of their legs, casually setting the new paper under the topmost book of their pile before sliding a bow and quiver off their back and dropping it down beside them. Kenny blinked at the weapon before settling his eyes back on the young being across from him. He gulped. _'It…He? Is it a he? Looks like it,'_ he thought, forcing himself to contain his quaking. _'If he has a weapon, he can't be dangerous on his own… right?'_ he prayed, hoping such a shot in the dark wouldn't result in a literal shot through his chest.

Kenny watched in astonishment as the bright green wings folded down, resting against his back and large enough to jut out behind a slender waistline. Even in the daylight, they looked damn well like a cape, giving his drunken self an apology for the lack of believability of credence. The fairy sighed, slipping a set of bags off from over his shoulder, snagging one and bringing it in front of him. Kenny watched him pulling out a book, bound in worn and torn leather and twine, snatching a bone-tipped quill and inkwell along with it and flipping open the book.

' _What do I do?'_ Kenny fretted. _'Do I leave? Should I stay? What'll he do if he sees me? He's shorter and smaller than me… maybe I can shove him down and run?'_

He was almost jealous of how calm and unaware the other was, reaching forward and pulling a long wooden whistle from the pile of discarded toys, twisting it in his hands and smirking as he dabbed his quill into his inkpot and began to scribble onto a page of his journal. Kenny narrowed his eyes, watching him staring at the cheap toy, as though it were a rare jewel needing to be appraised. He'd never seen such _fascination_ on another being's face, eyes flickering between the creature's eyes and his rapidly writing hand.

"Hm," the fairy cocked its head, holding the whistle far out in front of them, quill beginning to be dragged in long, careful lines, looking between it and the page. Kenny raised his brow, knowing that studious look from his own works. He was drawing it. Drawing a _toy_. But _why_? This was raising far more questions than it was answering, and Kenny still didn't have the _slightest_ idea as to how to proceed.

He snapped out of his panicked quandary as the fairy stopped their sketching and set the book and his quill aside, bringing the whistle back towards them and stroking a thumb down the engraved design, a gentle, smoldering smile on their face. He raised the edge of his short tunic, wiping off the mouthpiece situated on the end and brought it back up. He flicked it a couple of times, hearing the hollow click of the carved oak and humming once more. The creature turned it and softly blew into the mouthpiece, both himself and Kenny jerking at the sharp, crisp note darting through the air.

Kenny watched in bewilderment as the other's brow quirked before they broke out into soft chuckles, those wide eyes rolling dramatically. _"Aikopia, preita. Lae beln'ae ke'naina aikopia noti len inalsa."_

The tailor's face scrunched in confusion. ' _What the_ _ **fuck**_ _did he just say?!'_

The fairy sighed and shook his head amusedly, hopping back onto his feet and towards a tree outlying his ring. He smacked his lips, placing the whistle against the trunk with his palm overlaying it. Kenny's jaw dropped in horror as his hand sunk down through the bark with an eerie green glow, the fairy pulling his hand back out and brushing dust off his wrist.

A loud, frantic sound squeaked through Kenny's throat and he froze along with the redhead. Kenny's jaw quivered, cursing at himself for letting the sound slip through. He began to panic once more, glancing towards the ring for an answer of some kind, wondering if he should just stand and run for it, do _something_ to get himself out of a potential death zone. He glanced back up at the creature, jerking back violently as he found two spring green eyes locked in on him in equal shock.

 _'Oh shit'_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to my wonderful buddy corrupted_quiet for helping me for literally _hours_ trying to figure out the grammatical structure of the fairy language. For this one line. And preemptive thanks for subsequent lines to follow throughout this story because seriously I am a literal dumbshit when it comes to languages. The fact that I have a basic grasp of English is amazing enough in of itself. 
> 
> Whispers they’re far too good to me.
> 
> Thanks for reading and commenting!


	8. The First of Many

If one had asked him just yesterday what the longest moment in his life was, Kenny would have easily said that it was without a doubt after his father had caught him stealing his ale money for a gift for Karen and sitting in his room awaiting punishment. Now? Now it was no doubt being caught in a never-ending gaze with a creature from another world. Kenny couldn't read his expression for the life of him, a mix of panic and fear and bewilderment that he was more than sure that he was mirroring.

He didn't know how to proceed. Back away slowly? Just turn and _run_? He bit his lip, he knew that was no good. He'd seen this creature move, and it was fast. _Far_ too fast for Kenny to have so much as a prayer of ever outrunning it.

The fairy's face suddenly turned from shock to a snarl, moving back to swiftly hop back into his ring and bending down, swooping up his bow and an arrow from his quiver and pulling the hemp taut.

Kenny yelped, falling out of the bush and scrambling back onto his feet, holding his hands up at the infuriated fairy in defense. "Don't shoot!" he begged. "I didn't know, I didn't _know_!"

The redhead narrowed his eyes, keeping the arrow strung and aimed, hand quivering with the need to slacken the tension.

Kenny gulped, looking around desperately. He sure as hell didn't know this thing's language, his tongue probably sounded just as much of gibberish as the other's had to him. His gaze landed back on the tensed fairy, seeing his wings snapping back against his back tensely. "I promise," he said slowly, shaking his head. "I wasn't going to hurt you. Please. Don't," he pleaded, hoping at least his _tone_ was getting through to him at the very least.

Suspicion still rang clearly on the redhead's face, a long, steady breath seeping through his nose. He gulped, jerking his head backwards. Kenny blinked in confusion, the fairy rolling his eyes and repeating the gesture, obviously at the end of his patience. The tailor weighed his options. An arrow was _far_ faster than he was, so running wasn't going to do him a damn bit of good. If he talked his way out, he might have a shot. There was no way around it. He kept his hands up, shakily taking a step forward towards the bushes, twisting to get through the branches and come out onto the other side, looking at the shorter adversary across the way and biting his lip.

The fairy kept his guard up, nose scrunching a bit and tilting his head back in the slightest. Kenny quirked his brow at the clear sound of him softly sniffing the air before sharp green eyes landed on him again, scanning him up and down. He stopped, lip curling and his bow being redirected to his hip, a warning growl breaking from his slender throat.

Kenny looked down where he was gesturing, towards his sewing pouch and his face dropped. "Oh shit," he muttered. He forgot all about it. He kept one hand up, the other genially sliding down and undoing the tie keeping the bag in place. "It's okay," he said cautiously, holding up the pouch and letting it flip down, seeing pure fear raging through those green eyes at the array of iron pins and needles. "I just… forgot I had them," Kenny assured him. "I'm sorry, it's okay, I'm not going to hurt you…" he flipped the pack shut and threw it back behind him blindly, closing his eyes for a moment at the sound of it smacking against a tree trunk and groaning under his breath. Hopefully he could find it again. Most of his supply was kept in that damn thing. Not to mention he lost his _one_ defense. Why hadn't he thought of bringing a damn _sword_?

Kenny reopened his eyes, taking a shaking breath as the tension on the bow was slackened in the slightest, the creature still staring at him warily.

' _Keep talking,'_ Kenny goaded himself on. "I'm Kenny," he drawled. "I'm human," he gestured to himself, eyes widening in a plea for an understanding. _"Human_ ," he repeated, "Not… bad. Won't… hurt," he worked out. The shorter the better. Gentle tone. Keep it simple, don't freak out. That had to be his only chance. He kept his eyes wide, waiting for _some_ kind of a reply, seeing the bewildered contortion of the creature's face and cringing. Okay, so maybe that _wasn't_ the best of tactics.

"I _know_ you are human," a strong voice finally broke from the fairy, Kenny straightening back up in shock. "Are you one of the _stupid_ ones?" he demanded.

"I… I…" He fumbled, jaw quaking. "You can understand me?" he squeaked.

They slowly brought their bow down, still watching him cautiously but relinquishing the pull and letting his arrow droop from his finger. "Yes, or I would have already attacked you," he said simply, eyeing him up and down. "Why are you following me?" he snapped.

"I'm not, I'm _not_ …" Kenny paused, hands dropping and raising a shoulder lazily. "Well… not… exactly," he winced. "I… I just heard that this place was here and I wanted to see if you were…" he trailed off, posture slumping a bit. No matter how he phrased this, he'd come out sounding like a stalking lunatic. "I'm really sorry," he whispered guiltily. "I _swear_ I was only curious."

He seemed to soften at the word, blinking at him rapidly and taking a shaking breath, Kenny noticing for the first time how much the redhead was quivering in his place. He couldn't blame him; he wasn't exactly faring any better. The fairy sniffed the air again, gulping and nodding briskly to himself. "You are not…" he paused, looking for his words, "going to… hurt me?" he repeated worriedly.

"No, no, no," he insisted. "I promise. Please just… d-do you want me to… go now?" he asked with a wince, knowing that his bow was still easily accessible and ready to go.

He tongued over his lips, wings flittering behind him nervously and eyes darting around. "No," he whispered shyly.

"Okay then can you… put the bow away?" he requested, biting his lip at a slim hand clutching tightly around the yew once more, trembling in its tension. "I got rid of my needles… it's only fair," he reminded him.

The fairy blinked, considering his words for a moment, eyes narrowing confusedly. "Needles?" he repeated.

"The metal I threw back there," he clarified, jerking his thumb back towards his discarded pouch.

"Ah," he nodded. He sniffed the air a final time before backing up and tossing his bow and arrow into the ring, turning back to face him head-on. They stared at one another in silence, both of them trying to comprehend the magnitude of the situation they'd found themselves in. Their eyes locked, Kenny noting a gleam of something new in the fairy's wide eyes, now bereft of fear and malice, and it brought a long breath of relief out of his constricted lungs. The redhead tongued over his lips, crossing his arms self-consciously as he seemed to struggle for his words. "What are you called?" he finally worked out.

"Kenny," he repeated.

"Ohh," he said, straightening up and eyes flickering with understanding. " _Kenny_ ," he repeated, letting the foreign name roll off of his tongue, smiling softly to himself. "I thought that was some strange word I did not know."

He shrugged, "Well I mean… in a way it is?" The creature grinned wider for the briefest of moments, Kenny relaxing with the small gesture. "What about you?"

"Kylenove'ia," he answered.

Kenny blinked. "Kyla...naviah?" he tried.

He snorted at the pitiable attempt, "Most of my people call me Kyle," he suggested.

"Okay, Kyle. Much easier," he laughed softly, running a hand through his hair. He glanced up as Kyle took a cautious step forward, head cocking in curiosity. "I don't bite," he promised with a smirk.

The redhead gulped, moving closer and walking around him, eyes scanning up and down his form in fascination. _"Dane'al, de'aikopia lomeli,"_ he whispered, Kenny watching him bewilderedly. Kyle stopped at his back, lightly poking his shoulder blade and humming, a wide grin settling onto a brightening face. _"Camirethal'ae de noti!"_ he exclaimed, standing on his toes and tugging down the back of Kenny's tunic sharply. The blonde yelped, nearly losing his balance before Kyle caught the back of his head to keep him upright, staring at his bare back studiously. "Nothing," he murmured, shaking his head to himself amusedly.

"Can you let go, Kyle?" Kenny forced out. "You're kinda choking me!"

The fairy snapped his head up, embarrassment flooding his face as he quickly relinquished his collar and took a small step back, fingers fiddling shyly. "I am sorry," he mumbled, looking down at the ground. "I have never seen a human so close."

Kenny turned, rubbing the front of his throat and laughing softly. "Well I've never seen a fairy up close, so we're even."

He glanced back up at him, head cocking. "Fairy?"

He shrugged, gesturing towards him. "Ya know… one of you guys. With the wings and stuff," he flapped his hands in front of him in emphasis.

Kyle's face contorted lightly, nose scrunching. "Fairy," he repeated. "What an odd word."

"Well… what are you _really_ called?" he blinked.

"It depends on what part you ask of," he elaborated slowly. "My tribe is called _fater'talei_. But if you mean _all_ tribes of _all_ lands, we are _faterianea._ "

Kenny narrowed his eyes in concentration, "Fateri…anea?" he tried, getting a smile and nod from Kyle that made him brighten with the success. He paused, staring at him curiously, "So, how exactly can you understand me? Since I have no _idea_ some of the stuff you said," he chuckled.

Kyle's face reddened again, clearing his throat and tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. "I have… _found_ many of your books," he chose his word carefully. "And much of your papers have been left by the trees," he gestured around.

He nodded, impressed. "So, you taught _yourself_ how to speak it?"

"Yes. Well… and I have heard many of you when you come into the trees," he shrugged. "And well… in a… village," he mumbled.

A grin split across the tailor's face. "Ah, so you _are_ the toy thief," he declared, watching Kyle's face go pale and chuckling. "I saw you last week."

Kyle paused, raising his brow. He remembered quite vividly being caught, the pure unbridled _terror_ he'd felt before a darkened figure tried tripping over themselves, stumbling and slurring over words. He'd hid in the tree tops for hours in fear of being followed, barely making it home before dawn cracked and his family had found out his absence. "Were _you_ who yelled at me?" he blinked. "And nearly fell over?"

He snorted, "Well. I may have been a _wee_ bit drunk."

"Drunk?" he narrowed his eyes.

Kenny looked up for another phrasing, "Um… I drank a lot of alcohol."

His nose scrunched again thoughtfully, looking towards the ground with a hum. "I believe I read of that. Something of a drink of… evel?" he tried.

"Evil," he corrected with a small laugh. Kyle pouted. Fooled by a misprint. "And, that depends on who you ask. Keep yourself under control and it ain't so bad," he waved it off, pushing the stampeding thoughts of his father into the back of his mind. This matter was _far_ more important than that sack of shit could ever be in Kenny's eyes and it deserved every _ounce_ of his attention. "You guys don't have alcohol?" he asked.

Kyle shook his head. "We have only water and… um… the cooking of the leaves," he winced. "We call it _namial_."

He grinned, "We call it tea."

"Tea," he repeated, waiting for Kenny's approving nod and grinning, feeling at ease with the being in front of him, despite the excited pounding of his heart. Years of watching them from afar had culminated into this moment, a chance encounter he'd been hoping would come his way. But he was no fool, he'd lucked out with someone like Kenny meeting him as opposed to a potential threat. He cocked his head slightly, "How did you find me?"

Kenny took his turn for his face to blossom with color, scratching at his hair awkwardly. "I… I heard a rumor that your little magic ring was here," he jerked his thumb back towards the arranged fungi. "So I just had to come see it for myself and if there was someone like you with it."

A small smirk crawled across Kyle's face. "Magic? What about it is magic?"

Kenny blinked, "Well… I heard it's made by fairies… faterianea… whatever. Stories are that you guys make them by dancing around," he waved his hands dramatically.

The redhead burst out into loud laughter, covering his mouth with his hand and shaking his head. "Oh, _Tav'nokana,_ preita. _Salae na mal."_ He looked up at Kenny's embarrassment and chuckled a bit more. "No, there is no dancing," he assured him. "It is not even magic. It is just how I mark where I keep my things," he gestured to the piles of junk.

Kenny looked between him and the ring and hiked his brow, "But… but how are they _blue_?" he insisted.

Kyle snorted, walking up and tugging his sleeve along the way, leading him towards the ring and kneeling down beside a small, new budding mushroom. Kenny raised his brow, dropping down beside him and staring at the newly formed ivory plant. He watched as Kyle reached into his belt, pulling a small glass vial from the confines of the fabric and uncorking a shaved piece of bark from the mouth. Kenny narrowed his eyes, seeing a pulpy substance the same vivid shade of blue as the mushrooms themselves and Kyle smirked. He turned slightly and held it up towards Kenny's face, eyes wide and observant. "Smell," he insisted.

The blonde blinked, but genially took the vial and did as told. He could catch a faint whiff of a floral aroma, humming softly. "Smells nice?" he shrugged.

Kyle made a thoughtful sound, taking the container back and cocking his head. "Is it not so… uh… p-po... _potent_ to you?"

He shook his head, "Nah. Pretty subtle compared t' some of the stuff I work with," he snorted.

The fairy grinned. "You cannot smell as well as we can. Excellent," he claimed.

Kenny stared at him amusedly, "How is that 'excellent'?"

He shrugged innocently, "I have always wondered, but I have never had the chance to ask." He turned back to the new bloom and tilted the vial slightly onto his index finger, both of them watching the thick substance slivering down the glass tube towards his waiting digit. "My friend makes me this," Kyle informed him. "So I can smell my way back to my ring and do not lose my bearings."

"Huh," he nodded slowly, moving to sit cross-legged and leaning his cheek into his palm. He watched intensely as Kyle brought a small amount of the blue down at last, dotingly rubbing his coated finger over the monochromatic mushroom. "Wow," he murmured, the hue spreading atop the plant like veins.

"They absorb it very well," Kyle commented casually, finishing his work and recapping his vial. He wiped his finger off on the grass and tucked the glass back into his beltline. "And it does not hurt them."

Kenny hummed, "And do you grow them? I've never seen mushrooms that pop up in a circle," he gestured around.

Kyle blushed lightly, "Well… yes. With some seeds I… _borrow_ from another of my friends."

"You're just a thief no matter where you go, huh?" Kenny teased.

The redhead crossed his arms and looked off to the other side of the patch, face shifting hues as he cringed. He'd heard such accusations enough times throughout the last few years of scavenging for any resources he could come across from his own people. "If it is beneficial, then I believe it outweighs my actions."

He snorted, "Hey, no judgment here…" he trailed off, taking Kyle's distraction as an opportunity to stare at his wings. They were much thicker than they'd looked from a distance, the cartilage making a prominent rim surrounding them. It looked almost like flesh, stretched thin with a multitude of veins creeping through them like spider webs. They weren't like Meryl's book had declared at all, no faceted appearance and not nearly as glistening as he'd made them out to be. The green was far darker when folded atop one another, sprouting from between bony shoulder blades and popping through the back of his tunic. The tailor smirked to himself, noting the unique, loose design of the fabric, the hole large enough to trail down his spine and come to a stop at the small of his back. A simple, loose knot rested against the base of his neck to hold the wrapped fabric together, the entire design something intriguing and _vintage_ to the modernized seamster.

Kyle turned, seeing Kenny entranced with his appendages and smirking, moving one independently and watching Kenny's eyes following it in astonishment. He raised it slightly, bobbing the movement to keep him enthralled before rearing it back and smacking Kenny's upper arm, laughing at him jerking back in shock and looking back at his face with wide eyes. "If you are so interested, you can say something," he teased.

Kenny smiled sheepishly, "Sorry. They're just so… different," he breathed. "Can I… uh," he frowned embarrassedly.

The fairy rolled his eyes amusedly and nodded, turning a bit so his back faced him. Kenny perched up a bit, scooting towards him and gently gripping one of them. "Wow," he murmured, smiling at his astute observation. It _was_ skin, stretched so thin and smoothly that even the barest of touch against one's cheek couldn't compare to the sensation. It was surprisingly light, Kenny lifting it slightly and seeing muscles of Kyle's back moving along with the motions. He could clearly make out the lines of his own hand through the substance not obscured by scribbling veins. "How well do you fly?" he asked dreamily.

"Um, that depends on who you ask," Kyle shrugged.

"Well, I'm asking _you_."

He snorted, "I am not the strongest of fliers; I am more built for speed. Some other faterian are better at distance. Depends on your job."

"How does your job make you faster?" Kenny cocked his brow, smirking as he lightly trailed the back of his fingernail over the joint connecting the wings to his back where the green faded into his skin tone, racking a ticklish shudder through the small redhead.

Kyle cleared his throat, "I tend to put myself in danger more than needed, so I need a quick escape."

Kenny nodded, "Yeah I was fuckin' terrified of how fast you were when I saw you fly back the other night," he laughed.

Kyle looked back over his shoulder and cocked an amused brow, "Apparently not _too_ terrified. Since you came to find me."

"Curiosity will be the death of me," he admitted sheepishly.

He laughed softly, "Well, you and I both." Kenny let go of his wing and Kyle turned back around, both of them staring at one another, still just beyond lost in awe of their circumstance. "You are _nothing_ like my people say, Kenny," Kyle said softly.

"What do they say?" he asked.

"That you are killers," he shrugged. "You want nothing more than to hurt for gain."

Kenny's lips twisted, "Well… there are definitely some people out there like that, Dude. But… I'm sure there's some pretty sick and horrible fairies out there, too, right?" He watched, face falling concernedly as a flicker of grim anger flashed across Kyle's profile before he quickly shed it and went back to staring at the blonde brightly. "Why would you be out here if your people tell you that, though? Seems like a hell of a risk if they turned out t' be right," he commented.

Kyle scratched at a tuft of hair behind his scarf, "I never believed that your people were so cruel. Just… stupid," he said innocently.

Ken snorted, "Gee. Thanks."

His face fell, "No. No, I do not mean _stupid_ I just cannot… uh…" he looked up, fingers clenching as he searched for the words. Kenny watched him with a lopsided grin, eager to see just how he'd try to backtrack out of this one. "You… you do not care for… how things are," he worked out carefully. "You want only to press forward," he rolled his hands in front of him. "Do you understand?" he winced.

Kenny laughed, "We're progressive. Yeah, I get that. But that's just how it goes for us. Don't your people 'press forward'?" he quoted.

Kyle shook his head, "We have no room to do so. And those that want to are… well… it is not a good time for them," he murmured, green eyes glazing over exhaustively.

"You're one of 'em, huh?" Kenny asked, shrugging at the surprise flittering through his expression. "Trust me, not all people want to go forward either. 'Specially the older generation. Change scares the _shit_ out of 'em. Not much happens in my village but when it does, I guarantee there's gonna be crotchety ol' Mrs. Grady out there yellin' about it," he snorted.

"Are they your leader?" he asked quietly.

He shook his head, "Nah. We don't really have a leader. Not in town anyway. There's some council farrrrr away that makes our rules, but the closest we got to a town leader is our clerks. But they don't have much say in how we live."

"Amazing," he murmured in admiration. "We are built on every word from our leaders. Our _kiantri_ is the one who keeps us together."

Kenny hummed, "Well, there's some kings and noblemen in other cities and lands or whatever," he waved dismissively. "I'm _guessing_ that if you live in the same town as them, you follow their rules to the letter, but I can't say. I've been in my village all my life," he shrugged.

Kyle nodded sympathetically, letting out a long sigh. "I wish I knew how my home would be without our laws. You seem as though you are fine despite not having them."

He snorted, "Well, I wouldn't go that far. We still have laws and we have our jail and whatnot, but not many people are in there. But that's human nature, Man. We can be assholes but we can get along if we have to. We just want to punch each other in the face a lot more often than we should. Hence why we have the alcohol," he winked.

"Hm," he mused, letting the thought linger over him before the bright green of his eyes seemed to gloss over, a tender fondness about them. Kenny could only correlate the expression to the same look Karen had given him upon revisiting his ridiculous tale with the town kids. "Humans are so… _fascinating_ ," he murmured shyly.

"We're really not," he said dryly. "We're not the magic ones," he gestured to the redhead.

He pouted, "I believe all creatures hold some form of magic. Humans as well."

Kenny hitched his brow, "Oh? Like?"

"Your ability to adapt," he shrugged. "The way you all change as a group… it is much more interesting than the same spells my people have done since the beginning of our time."

He smirked, "That's not magic, Kyle. That's just goddamn nature."

"Nature holds its own magic," he said quietly. "My tribe is very reliant on what the land holds. Without it, we would fall, just as your own people," he reminded him. "Seasons change, flowers bloom and die and are born again," he said softly, looking down and playing a blade of grass between thin fingers. "Trees live several lifetimes and grow their own fruit," he gestured towards the mulberries surrounding them. "I believe there is something in that, do you agree?" he smiled shyly.

The blonde blinked before his lips curled into a smile, "Wow. Yeah, I guess there is," he laughed breathlessly. "See, when humans say magic, they mean just… unnatural," he shrugged.

"My magics _are_ natural," he raised his brow. "Perhaps not to you, but to my people, they are as simple as _fateri_ games. Many of us can perform spells right after we learn to speak."

He nodded, "All about perspective I s'pose. Lot of my people would probably call what you can do 'evil' t' be honest," he winced.

Kyle frowned, "Do you believe that? You have not really even seen me do anything with my magic."

He shook his head, "Nah. I don't think you are. If you were, ya would've dragged me back to Fairyland to experiment on me or somethin'," he wriggled his fingers, getting another smile to break on Kyle's face. "'Sides, I think different is a good thing," he remarked. "Ya live starin' at the same shit for so long and hatin' it and change is _more_ than welcome," he drawled.

The fairy nodded in agreement, "I feel the same… and you are the biggest change I have ever had," he admitted softly.

"Same to you, Dude," he chuckled. "Difference was you knew my kind existed, I wasn't sure 'bout you till now."

He laughed and nodded again, "Well, now you know…" he paused, biting his lip. "Kenny… will you promise to… keep this… a secret?" he winced, gesturing between the both of them.

Kenny blinked, ignoring the excitement he'd been feeling at the prospect of telling Karen all about this encounter. "I mean, yeah no problem. But why?"

"Because like you said, other humans may find my kind to be evil," he said sadly. "I cannot risk my people with that. There is a reason so few of us leave the burrow, and why many faterian are not _happy_ that I continue to do so," he pouted. "So… please. Do not say anything."

He nodded firmly, "I understand, Dude. I won't say a word. I promise."

Kyle smiled gently, "Thank you."

Kenny waved off his gratitude. "No problem. Sounds like you're really risking your ass comin' out here at all, let alone talkin' t' me. And honestly, I don't know how other people would react to seeing you," he winced, cringing at Kyle's smile dripping off his face, wide eyes blinking with an innocent naivety that tore at his heart. "Listen, even if I _did_ tell someone, which I _won't_ ," he emphasized, "I'd only tell the four people I know wouldn't go the wrong way with that information," he assured him.

Kyle grew a knowing, sad smile that looked to Kenny like an all-too-common expression for him as naturally as it fell onto his face. "Thank you. I wish more humans were like yourself, but that is a foolish thing to want. You would not all be so interesting if you were all the same." Kenny gave a sheepish shrug and nod and his grin turned a bit cheerier. "I really think-" he paused, eyes widening before a soft glow emitted from his back, both of them turning to see his wings taking on a ghastly shade and he groaned, leaning his head back exhaustively. " _Ritavi,_ **preita** _ **.**_ _Chal lae'ia notivec,"_ he whined before tilting his head back down and smiling apologetically. "I have to go before they send someone for me," he explained, moving back onto his feet and helping the human scramble up as well. He hopped back into his ring and snagged the pile of toys, looking around and humming in thought. Kenny cocked his head, watching him as he flapped his wings to jump and soar over the bushes and towards a large tree. He held his treasures to the bark, murmuring to himself and his hands picking up that glow again.

Kenny gulped, waiting for him to finish placing his items in the tree and pull his hands back out, nonchalantly dusting off and moving himself back towards the remainder of his collection. "So… what is that exactly?" he gestured to the storage.

Kyle blinked, looking between him and the tree. "Oh. It is just the easiest way for me to keep them hidden. I cannot exactly bring home all of them," he rolled his eyes dramatically. "A bit too obvious as to what I am doing." Kenny snorted, nodding in agreement. He watched as Kyle knelt down with his two bags, starting to carefully pick up his glass shards and stick them into one and moving down beside him.

"Do the books go in this one?" he asked, pointing to the waiting satchel. Kyle blinked again and nodded, Kenny snagging it and starting to carefully stow away his papers.

Kyle grinned shyly, "Thank you."

"No problem," he waved him off. "So what's with the glass?"

"I collect it for the kiantri," he responded quietly. "It is one of the only ways to get out of the burrow without being followed."

"Glass fetish, huh?" he smirked.

"What?" he cocked his brow at him.

Kenny waved his hand dismissively, finishing carefully putting the last paper in place and slipping the top flap back over the bag. "You really like to read, huh?" he chuckled, weighing the bag a bit.

He shrugged sheepishly, "Not much else to do for me… I am really only supposed to read, not much else."

The blonde cocked his head, "What? Why?"

Kyle let out a long breath through his nose, snagging his quiver and bow from behind him and slipping them up over a pair of wings to slide over his head. He gently took the satchel of books from Kenny and repeated the motion. "It is… a very long story," he said tiredly.

"Well, next time," Kenny shrugged.

He coughed out an awkward, embarrassed chuckle, "Trust me, it is not very interesting..." he paused, lips creeping upwards. "Next time? Really?" he repeated.

Kenny paused, running a hand up through his hair. "Only if you're cool with it," he winced.

Kyle's head nearly spun as briskly and enthusiastically as he found himself nodding. "Yes. Please, I-I... I have so _much_ to ask you of your people." 

He smirked, "Well, same to you. Much more to you than me, I'm sure."

Kyle quirked his brow. "Believe me, you do not know how wrong you are. My people are very... uninteresting," he admitted with a small shrug. 

The blonde laughed, "Kyle, you could just tell me what you had for _breakfast_ and I'd be interested as shit."

The fairy grinned and shook his head at his naivety, snatching his glass bag from the ground and placing it over his shoulder. His wings popped outwards, Kenny watching in utter astonishment yet again. "When can we meet again?" Kyle asked softly.

"Any day so long as it's around this time," he gestured towards the setting sun. "I can't get outta work sooner than evenin'."

Kyle nodded slowly. "All right. We will try tomorrow, when the sky first has darkness… You humans measure time by… _how-er_. Right?"

"Right," he nodded back with a snort. "Ya say it like _hour_ , though."

"Oh..." He blushed, awkwardly shifting on his bare feet and diverting his eyes for a moment. He glanced back up to Kenny's amused smile and bit his lip, giving a shrug. "I have only read it before. And only know of its time from a... um... light... o-or uh... f-fire stick that I found," he winced.

Kenny winked, "That's called a candle. And I ain't teasin' ya in the least. Trust me, I'm impressed. You probably learned faster than I ever did and I grew up with the damn language with actual lessons. English is fuckin' hard."

Kyle's lips curled back upwards. "Believe me, I have learned that." He brightened more with Kenny's chipper laughter, having to stop himself and remember the impending threat of someone finding him if he didn't hurry. He cleared his throat. "How about, if one of us does not come within a half of an _hour_ , the other should just assume they could not get here."

He grinned, his chuckling fading out with a nod, "Good plan. Tomorrow then."

"Tomorrow," he repeated, lifting off the ground, wings fluttering behind him rapidly. He raised himself to Kenny's eye level and smiled excitedly. "Until then, Kenny," he said before turning and swiftly making way over the bushes, darting between trees and out of sight.

Kenny watched after him in awe, lips quirked upward and heart beating excitedly once again. It was surreal, standing in the rosy shade of the setting sun, reeling from the experience. Everything he'd imagined from his youth was wrong, but he couldn't be _happier_ that such was the case. Kyle was something entirely new, vastly different from his humdrum existence. And apparently he was the same for the redhead, wondering if he had looked as thrilled to meet him as Kyle did towards himself.

The blonde glanced down at the new mushroom that Kyle had painted, smiling fondly at the array of color now fully spread over the dome and sighing contentedly. He made his way out of the thicket, spotting his leather sewing pouch right off lying against the tree it had victimized. He leaned down to snag it, making a mental note to leave it at the shop the next night. Clutching it to his chest, body shaking with the thrill of it all, he began his long journey towards home, and towards the agonizing wait for tomorrow to come.


	9. Fater'talei

Zipping through trees, bare feet bouncing off of rocks and trunks to propel himself forward in a jovial fashion, Kyle was beyond the picture of elation. A wide grin seemed etched onto his profile, eyes sparkling with satisfaction and a newfound intrigue and personal victory he never thought that he could ever garner. He traveled the familiar path towards the mountains, nearly humming to himself as he raced the setting sun.

' _I can't believe it,"_ he thought to himself airily. _"An actual_ _ **human**_ _. And he understood me!"_ he smiled wider. A deep sense of pride wound itself within his stomach, spreading a numbing, comfortable warmth throughout his swift movements against the brisk evening air. In the last few years of studying the humans, he'd _never_ thought that he'd actually have the chance to apply his hard-earned knowledge. It had been a fickle dream at best, one that would keep him awake into the long hours of the night, imagining for himself just what an encounter of that nature would be like. Meeting Kenny had been beyond his hopes, usually finding himself envisioning a human running off in fright or doing nothing more than trying to kill him, try to bring back their unique find to their people. But no, _this_ human felt a mutual fascination, had an air of trust about him that even within his own world, Kyle could rarely seem to find. He believed every word he'd told him, from his name to his swearing to secrecy on their meeting.

The fairy sighed happily, hugging the thick satchel of glass to his chest as he flew forward. He felt renewed, filled with a new sense of purpose that he'd long pushed to the back of his mind. He'd been spinning in circles for _so long_ , but Kenny had completely reopened the door. New opportunities were finally within his grasp, able to look forward to more than just raiding the village now and again for a couple items of worthlessness. This human was his plethora of information, the epitome of everything that he'd worked towards. He could only learn so much through text and brief conversation within earshot as he hid away within the foliage. But now? Now he held the key to more information than he could probably even _begin_ to comprehend.

He hummed lightly, kicking off a large oak and boosting himself upwards in the slightest, ignoring the aggravated song of birds he'd disturbed. He couldn't help but wonder just what it was Kenny wanted to know of _him_. Maybe he was in Kyle's field, wanted to know absolutely _everything_ about his life within the mountains. Kyle snorted and shook his head. Then again, he knew better than anyone: His life was far from eventful, so stuck in his destined routine that he wondered if he'd ever be able to function without the basis he'd built his entire being upon. Kenny would probably die from _boredom_ before he ever found out all he wanted to know.

Given, he certainly wasn't lingering within the guidelines that so long ago were set upon him, but he still had his path. He just liked to take a couple detours and find the scenic route as he worked himself towards what was to be his ultimate goal for his people.

Kyle glanced to his side at large, jutting rocks beginning to crest the earth, clicking his tongue and keeping his eyes peeled for a bright marker. Gracefully he landed on his feet, sliding to a stop and continuing closer towards the formation and making his way down the line, shifting his parcels wrapped around him tightly. He popped his lips, hearing the clinking of glass muffled from their burlap hold. A quiet sigh escaped him as his eye caught a long red slash down a rock, a natural effect but one used to a particular advantage for himself and the few others who dared venture this far beyond their home. The mark looked just as it felt for the redhead: Harsh and unforgiving. Something that he couldn't just ignore was there, and something that he _always_ had to return to, regardless of whether he wanted to do so or not.

He pouted lightly before forcing himself to take a deep breath, relishing in his last lungful of fresh forest air for the night, letting the aromatic scent of sap and soil nestle itself snugly within his senses. The fairy sighed, eyes drooping as he reminded himself to stay somewhat subdued, to ignore the pure and utter joy dancing through him like lightening. After all, one spark could set the village ablaze, and he'd be damned if it'd be _him_ who caused the destruction.

Lightly, he pressed an open palm against the rock, ears perking for noise before deeming his surroundings safe and his green light beginning to emit from his hand; A wicked sight within the ebbing darkness. He grunted as he began slipping into hollow rock, stepping through the hidden vortex and right into the staunch, wet darkness of the mountain, wings spreading to keep him upright from the drop. The sound of life flowed below him and he let his shoulders droop as he let himself freefall a bit through the tunnel towards the light awaiting him, clutching onto his parcels tightly from the air whipping around him. Color flooded onto him, eyes wincing as they always did going from the abyss into a world of gleaming color and life.

A spark of light flashed in his eye and he groaned, shaking his head and glaring at embedded glass smeared across the hollowed mountainside like watercolor paint. Dapples of different color and glowing light came from each individual piece, each and every attribute crafted and blessed personally for their living comfort. Below him was a forest all its own, trees wide enough for ten faterian to stand arm-to-arm with one another and still not encircle the entire trunk. Kyle glanced around as he continued to fall, watching others continuing about their daily lives, unaware of the vast mischief that their resident _lenove_ had gotten into. He couldn't help the self-righteous smirk, wings finally beginning to flap to slow his descent. He angled his foot back as he neared the ground, catching the slope of a rock and riding it down onto the sturdy ground. He hissed, hopping a bit on his uninjured sole. A bit too hard on the landing yet again.

Kyle glanced around, nodding to a few greetings and turning to head further into the range, dodging people as he made way towards his usual first stop upon returning. He swiftly twisted and turned around those walking, ducking low-fliers as they made their way by in a hurry and rolling his eyes. He wondered if he could start some kind of movement, get a few of the people in his village to move a few miles down into the range to bother one of the _other_ tribes, because this amount of close proximity just never boded well for him. Outside was where he could breathe. In here was where he was stifled by musty air, living beings, and his duties. He sighed, clasping onto his glass bag tighter as he continued to press onward, breaking free of the side of a crowd and towards a rising hill leading to his goal.

"Heeeyyyy Kylenaviiii!" a deep, teasing voice perked up. Kyle froze, eyes clenching shut and a raggedy breath breaking through his throat.

"Fucking _what_?" he snapped, turning to watch a tall group of three approaching him. Three that he'd dealt with since he was a child, and three that never seemed to get off of his fucking back.

The instigator smirked, walking up towards him and flicking his forehead. "Just tryin' to talk to you," he said innocently.

"Fuck off, Jason, I have places to be," he grumbled.

"Suckin' up to the kiantri?" the brunette elbowed him.

He took a long, deep breath. "I am not 'sucking up'," he said firmly. "I'm doing my job. That he assigned me to do. Why don't you do _yours_ and go guard the fucking outside?" he bit.

Jason snorted, "This isn't your _job_ ," he stressed. "It's a freak hobby."

The other two laughed behind him, elbowing each other. "You tell 'im, Jas," one commented.

Kyle rolled his eyes dramatically. Fos'se and Bil'taon were just his _favorites_. He wondered each time he interacted with them if they were ever not around each other. Or fucking Jaso'nali for that matter. He wouldn't have been surprised if they'd all popped from the same womb unbeknownst to anyone, including their own damn mothers. Kyle shifted his bag on his shoulder and crossed his arms. "Don't you have something better to do than waste my time?" he asked dryly. "I have things to do, people to go see. You know. What people who _aren't_ repulsive to the rest of society do," he narrowed his eyes.

Jason narrowed his right back, "Awful lot of attitude for a wimpy little freak."

He scoffed, "Please. Just because you're so _stupid_ your empty head doubles as a weapon, it doesn't mean I'm fucking wimpy." He smirked to himself self-righteously, _'Besides. I bet_ _ **Kenny**_ _would've had you shitting yourself and flying off in the other direction with your wings between your legs.'_

"You have a problem, Ky _lenavi_?" he taunted.

"Yeah, fucking _you_ ," he bit, raising his foot a swiftly kicking his groin and knocking him backwards, riding the momentum and turning on his heel, not paying his victim a second glance as he casually continued on his way. He could feel people staring at him and shaking their heads, Jason and his little groupies off in the background yelling at him, but he had _much_ more important matters to attend to.

He hummed, veering off the main path lined with barky homes and towards a large, tinted glass building up atop the hill. He couldn't help but find himself staring up at it as he always did, a true marvel to say the least. From what he'd been told, it'd taken nearly two lifetimes long ago for it to be completed, each piece of glass melted down and colored to blend into a glimmering field of wildflowers. At night, it had become a solace for even Kyle as he wandered through hazy dreams of what lied beyond the mountains, seeing it through his window glowing in the distance as a constant beacon of what his people stood for. It was one of the few things that Kyle was comfortable with, despite it being the entire foundation for where he stood among society.

Maybe it was just how he was raised, brought up to believe in its healing prowess. Then again, he was raised to believe _many_ things. He wasn't particularly settled within most of the mindset he'd been brought up on.

He walked up to a large glass door, quietly pushing open the barrier and greeted with the smell of burning lavender wafting pleasantly in the air. Kyle sighed in the aroma, walking into the room bereft of the sounds of the outside, glancing down the main hall of worship and making his way down the long, linen walkway. His eyes slid up to the upper rafters, at eight intricately designed statues staring at him patiently.

Kyle gulped, hanging his head down, fingers linking together in a criss-cross pattern with his palms facing towards his deities as a soft murmur left his lips; _"Tav'nokana, anea li mal paelor…"_ his sight flickered back up, breath shaking as he let himself linger on the one statue situated on a platform all Her own above the remaining seven. Carved from trees long ago considered sacred, She stood above her children with kind eyes and a tattered cloak trailing behind Her that faded off into oblivion.

"She would not have appreciated what you just did to Jaso'nali," a soft voice broke his staring. He glanced over to see a familiar face watching him expectantly, a tall figure adorned in a silken tawny robe. A withering form did nothing to take from his power over the room, to let even one be fooled for the slightest of moments that he was nothing more than an old man taking space. Even though Kyle had known him his entire life, the kiantri still intimidated him despite his kind, gentle nature for all his followers, knowing well enough that his magic and his authority was far beyond anything that Kyle could ever hold in his hands.

Kyle blushed as the kiantri continued staring at him waiting for a response, pivoting on his foot and hanging his head. "Sorry, _Mal'tene_ ," he mumbled. He looked back up, seeing the old man folding in his finger and turning to begin walking away. The redhead took a deep breath, stepping off behind him, sure to keep his respectable distance and his head hanging down, fingers remaining linked amongst one another. He peeked over to see other members of the _kana'fale_ watching him for a moment before returning to their own prayers and his face color deepened. Seemed _everyone_ knew who he was anymore. Wasn't a hard task with such a sparse village and a close-knit tribe, but being a focal point of gossip was never exactly one of Kyle's favorite things to be.

He followed the kiantri down the hallway to a far-side room, waiting outside the frame until the old man was seated before allowing himself to cross the threshold and close the darkly tinted barrier behind him. He glanced at the man nervously, the kiantri shaking his head at him. " _Tetima_ is far too strong in you," he commented. Kyle cringed, rubbing his arm sheepishly.

"He called me a freak, Mal'tene."

"And you wanted to make him respect you through violence?" he quirked his brow.

Kyle's shoulders sank, "No… I-I just wanted to get here so I could get home. My mother called for me."

He nodded slowly, tapping his fingers against one another and leaning back a bit on his carved wooden chair. "Kylenove'ia," he said quietly, tired grey eyes scanning over him and his guilty posture. "You know so much better than that. You're a man of the _paper_. _Not_ one of war."

The redhead twisted his lips, "Mal'tene, I wasn't trying to start anything," he insisted. "He pulls that all the time."

"Then you should be used to it," he batted off. "What have I told you to do with him?"

"Send him here," he grumbled. "I wasn't thinking of that… I'm sorry."

The kiantri sighed and shook his head, standing up and watching Kyle automatically duck his head. He walked up to the redhead and tipped his chin up, staring at him firmly. "You have what he does _not_ ," he reminded him. "Jaso'nali can destroy with his strength, not with his words. That is how _you_ win battles. Do you understand?"

Kyle nodded softly, "I'm sorry," he repeated in a meek tone.

The man's stern face broke for a small smirk. " _Far_ too much Tetima in you," he repeated in a teasing tone. "Perhaps one day you will harbor Her for the purpose of good." Kyle snorted softly and he patted his head. "Now, did you find anything today?" he asked kindly. Kyle nodded, handing him his bag of glass. The leader peered inside and cocked his head at the small stash. "Less than usual," he commented.

The redhead shrugged, fighting back a blush, "Couldn't find much. I tried for a good while but I must've cleaned out the one portion I was scavenging in… I'll spread out the search tomorrow," he half-heartedly promised.

"Hm," he mused with a nod. "Well… please. Be careful," he cautioned. "You are breaking farther and farther from the _treagi's_ line of sight. I do not like the idea of you being out there on your own so far from them."

' _Well that's the damn plan_ ,' he thought tiredly. "Don't worry," he said lightly. "Stante'ri is already making me take my bow," he pointed to it situated on his back. "And my aim with that is better than any of their weapons."

The kiantri smirked, "Brashness will only take one so far in a battle, young _lenove_. Please, do remember to stay alert, and…?" he looked at him expectantly.

"Keep myself out of danger and come back home if trouble arises," he recited dutifully. "I know, Mal'tene."

He chuckled, patting his head again, "Behave," he advised. "Your mother is already fearful enough for you. Please don't continue to give her reason to seek my guidance on the matter."

Kyle laughed awkwardly, staunchly ignoring a particular blonde head popping into mind. "I'll try," he lied. "May I go to her now?"

The old man nodded, placing a kind hand on his shoulder, "Tav'nokana _kaepo ilnoe na mani."_

The redhead smiled a bit guiltily, bowing his head down, "Mani'li." The kianti stepped back from him and Kyle turned on his heel, leaving his bag with the man until morning, the same routine as they'd held for the last three seasons. Kyle stepped out of the kiantri's room, closing the door behind him and heaving a deep, cleansing breath as he made way back towards the prayer hall. He was risking himself on far too many levels at once at this point, unable to believe that a being with such wisdom hadn't caught on to his misdeeds as of yet. Then again, Kyle had himself wrapped so deeply into each of his fibs that even _he_ had to stop to remind himself of his true intentions upon breeching the burrow into the open sky.

He stopped, fingers linking and palms twisting for another short prayer to Tav'nokana. His gaze fell down to the wayside as he finished, to the last statue on the far right. A sturdy woman with a cocky smile, left hand extended gracefully towards the hall lightly cradling a branch of firethorn. The sculptor had certainly done his job well, Tetima's renowned bruises and scrapes emblazoned within the wooden curves of Her exposed arms, expression so sure of itself that Kyle could swear now and then that he could see the gleam of Her eyes. "Tetima… _onal'ae_ ," he pleaded under his breath, eyes flickering to those still lingering in the hall for an eavesdropper. He kept his sight on Her for a few steps backwards before forcing himself to turn and head through the room towards the glowing lights awaiting him on the other side of the lengthy aisle.

He nearly burst from the temple back into the musty air, a shaking breath escaping him and a long shudder racking down his back and throughout his wings. He could almost feel seven of the eight statues watching after him in disappointment, his fists tightening as he jumped up and took flight to separate himself from their judgment. Glancing down at the crowd below in the main stretch of the village, he searched briskly for his troublemakers, finding no sign and sighing in relief. Good. Last thing he needed was for them to get him into trouble _again_. Damn the kiantri's clear walls and his uncanny ability to know everything that went on within his view.

Kyle shook his head, quickly picking up speed, dodging around other fliers as he made his way towards the outskirts of paved rock into lush grass sprawling from cracks of the earth. But Kyle knew, this was all just too false. No matter how much plant life the kiantri's powerful magics provided them, regardless of how much his blessed shards of glass beamed light onto the people, it wasn't the _real_ thing. And Kyle was so deeply in love with the concept of the real thing that coming back home was nothing but a disappointing haze. To any outsider or the multitude of faterian dwelling within the patch of land declared for his tribe, it would be a marvel. Something that only an artist could conjure up, a seemingly endless pallet of rainbow reflections shimmering onto onlookers.

But as for Kyle, he knew better. His world was a monochromatic hue, the glares of broken jars paling in comparison to the feeling of sunlight in one's eye. The heavy smell of rock and dirt absolutely _nothing_ against the muggy aroma of a field after a heavy rainstorm. His people only knew the scents of flowers that he or another wanderer brought to them. They had never experienced the ripe hit of a full-blown evergreen, the spice of freshly tilled human soil as they began their planting seasons. After all, what good were an endless variety of fruits and vegetables grown with calloused hands and tender hearts when natural berries and edible leaves and dandelion stems were 'good enough'?

Kyle grunted, speeding through the seemingly endless spawn of nearly identical trees, full of nearly identical families all just so happy being locked in their cave. He frowned. No, it wasn't a cave. Caves had an easy way into the sunlight. This hole of theirs was a _trap._ It was made to keep them in, and the kiantri, Tav'nokana bless him, had done all he could to keep their spirits high as did the other kiantri who came before him. For the most part, he'd succeeded. But, Kyle supposed, there was always going to be one bad apple in the bunch. He sighed tiredly, coming upon a large elm and swooping down to land back on his feet in front of the massive trunk. Why _he_ had to be that bad seed, he'd probably never know. Until today, it had seemed to be more trouble than it was worth.

But today, Kenny turned that on its head entirely.

He smiled fondly, posture loosening with the recollection. There were too many times he'd let everything pile on top of him and bring him down. Today should not be one of those days, not with his tremendous achievement.

He placed his hand against the front of the trunk, glancing at his family's names carved into the bark before slipping within the hollowed wood. He came right into the smell of deer roasting over a low-flame, glancing over at his father sitting at the table quietly reading a worn book. The man glanced up, smiling, "Hey there, Kyle."

"Hey," he nodded. "Gonna put my stuff away."

"All right, hurry up," he advised him. "Your mother isn't happy you're so late. Grab your brother on your way down."

The redhead winced. Yeah he figured that his little detour with Jason and his impromptu lecture didn't do him any favors by means of a timely arrival. He silently nodded once more, walking to the middle of their sitting room and jumping up towards a hole carved above him, wings flapping quietly and trying to bring his bag and weapon in closer to keep from smacking against the entryways. He passed the first floor, designated Ike's and glancing at the closed off wall as he flew by to his own level. He sighed, landing with soft feet upon the sanded panel and walking to his wall, seeping through it with a tired groan.

He glanced around at his bed freshly made and rolled his eyes. Obviously the handiwork of his mother. Gently, he slid his bag off his shoulder and snagged his bow and quiver, tossing them aimlessly towards a pile of books stacked taller than himself and towering along his wall. He hated carrying the weapons around, found them far too clunky for the stealthy movements he needed. But a few days of incessant _begging_ from his best friend had led to a begrudging acceptance, less Stan ask for a special duty within the treagi to become his fucking bodyguard.

Snatching up his bag, he carried it over to his carved out closet, tonguing over his lips as he slid into the cavern. He hummed, nails tracing along the wood until catching on two divots, hooking his fingers down and grunting with effort to rip open a door that'd taken him nearly four months to carve with rock and a _lot_ of magic to hollow out the thick inner walls. Kyle could say the _one_ benefit to living in the mountain was there was no chance of a storm taking out the portion of the house that he'd weakened significantly. But he also knew that regardless of his craftsmanship, their homes were sturdy as they came, he was beyond safe to mess around with the architecture. He slipped himself into the narrow space as he got the door open, raising a hand and letting it catch its glowing shade and gripping one of the few books he'd found out of its hold. He held his hand up, narrowing his eyes in the darkness.

"' _To Sail with Them',"_ he read aloud, cocking his head and turning the cover a bit. "Huh." His eyes flickered in realization. No time for dawdling, had to hurry before his mother came storming into his room and found his little treasure trove. He carefully grabbed the few spoils of the day, stacking them atop a lopsidedly carved shelf among other swiped tomes, slipping loose papers into various books and clicking his tongue hurriedly as he worked. The largest book, one from his own people, stayed within the bag as he swiftly slipped out of his secret room and back among his hanging tunics. He slid the door firmly closed, getting back into the main portion of his room and tossing his bag onto the bed. Glancing back to confirm the security of his library, he nodded, walking up to his front wall and seeping through, moving to hop down from his floor and land onto his brother's with a quiet thud.

Kyle perked his ears as he walked towards the wall, rapping on it quickly with the back of his hand. "Ike?" he called, hearing nothing and frowning. "Ike, dinner!" he tried again. He backed up a bit and scowled. "IKERRIAN GET YOUR FUCKING ASS OUT HERE!" he snapped.

"FUCKING HOLD ON, KYLE!" Came an equal-volume level of impatience.

Green eyes rolled dramatically, "Come _on_ or Ma will skin us both!" He leaned his ear towards the wall, hearing a good deal of shuffling about and Ike cursing his older brother out. Kyle cocked his brow, stepping back as he heard Ike approaching the wall and crossing his arms as a baby blue glow began to emit from a small portion of the wall, Ike sinking out and glaring at the redhead.

"Ever heard of something called _patience_?" he snapped.

"Ever heard of saving your jerking off for when it's _not_ dinner time?" he shot back flatly. He hissed and covered his arm as Ike punched him roughly and rolled his eyes.

"I wasn't fucking 'jerking off'," he mocked. "Filmore was over and left through the damn window."

"Still counts as jerkin' even if you're doin' it to each other," he taunted, stopping him from punching him again and smirking at the pure distaste twisting on his face. He glanced at a new color in his peripheral as Ike's wings snapped, pulling his arm and twisting him a bit. A bright blue smelling subtly of tweedia petals was leaking from the appendages. "Dude. What the _fuck_ did you do?" he blinked before Ike shook him off.

Ike brushed bushy black hair out of his eyes, glaring at his brother. "Filmore found some flowers on the hunt and brought 'em back to dye my wings."

Kyle sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You idiot. You don't _need_ yours to be colored!"

"Well neither does the fuckin' baker's kid but he's got himself bright red wings," he frowned. "And it ain't permanent like _yours_."

The elder groaned, "It's _not._ It's just long-lasting magic, it'll be gone by next season and I'll have to change them for the fall. Did you tell Ma you were doin' this?"

"No, but it's just _dye_ ," he insisted. "It'll be gone in a few weeks. Tops."

Kyle shook his head and chuckled. "And I thought _I_ was the one in for a lecture. Good luck with that logic, Man," he waved him off, turning and heading towards the hole in the floor yet again and hopping down, moving out of the way for Ike to follow behind and the both of them turning to see their father shaking his head at them. They glanced at each other in worry. That was never a good sign. The brothers looked back up as their mother bustled back into the room with a plate of meat and laying it on the set table, not looking at the both of them.

"How _kind_ of you to join us, Kylenove'ia," she drawled, sitting in her seat next to their father.

His eyes drooped tiredly, "Ma, my meeting with the kiantri ran late I'm _sorry_. I can't exactly tell _him_ to speed it up." He and Ike walked to their own chairs pushing each other subtly. Kyle took his seat opposite his father at the expertly carved round table, scooting his large stump to bring him closer and glancing at his mother with a wince. "I swear, I'm really sorry," he insisted. He sighed tiredly at her keeping her ground, shaking his head. Seemed he was apologizing to _everyone_ today. "Ike dyed his wings," he said casually, smirking as her head snapped to her youngest child. No doubt the _easiest_ way to get on her good side was to turn the blame. A dirty trick, but one both of the brothers had mastered for _years_.

" _WHAT WHAT WHAT?!"_ she shrieked, the young noirette flinching.

"Mom, it's just dye. It'll be gone soon," he insisted. "I'm _expressing_ myself," he said, kicking Kyle's leg under the table, the redhead gasping in pain and snarling at him.

She glared at him furiously, green eyes to match Kyle's own beaming with the promise of punishment. "You should be _expressing_ yourself by working, young man!" she lectured, stabbing at a large slab of venison with a bone fork and plopping it onto their father's plate, beginning to dish out pieces for the boys as well. Kyle watched his own cut fall onto the wooden dish and rolled his eyes. He was so fucking sick of deer meat and berries every damn night.

" _Kyle's_ not working," he drawled.

He glared at him sharply, "How do _you_ know what I do? You don't know one _ounce_ of my duties so don't even _try_ that shit-"

"Kyle, language," Gerald interjected nonchalantly, taking a bite of his dinner and settling in for the all-too-common three-way argument they were edging towards.

"Your brother is working for the kiantri," Sheila reminded Ike firmly, taking a long sip of tea. "And the kiantri wouldn't have him doing something that doesn't benefit us all."

Kyle turned to his fuming brother smugly, popping a blueberry between his lips. " _Yeah,_ Ike. My work is _beneficial_. And just what have _you_ been doing with your little tinkering?"

Ike looked between the three of them, an angry breath seeping out of his nostrils. "I'm working on a way to filter our fucking water easier instead of it taking us four _days_ to get it clean," he snapped.

Kyle blinked, wincing guiltily. "Oh. Okay, that is important," he agreed awkwardly. Truth be told, he never pried too much into Ike's work as one of the village inventors, far too preoccupied with his own studies.

Ike continued his death glare. "And just what have _you_ been doing, oh great knowledgeable savior?" he hissed.

"Ikerrian," their mother warned, turning to her eldest son and raising her brow. "Yes, what _have_ you been doing, Kyle? You've been so quiet about your research."

He cleared his throat, shrugging dismissively. "Same as usual, get _nimikal'e_ for the kiantri, look at plants and write about 'em. Ya know… what I've been doing for months."

Ike hummed amusedly, taking a bite of venison. "And… just _how_ are the aikopia _plants_ , Ky?" he asked casually, the redhead freezing and glaring at him. Always turning it back to the humans on him whenever things were looking bad for him, Ike had a predictable pattern that Kyle always knew was coming, but infuriated him no less.

"Again?" Gerald sighed, rubbing his temple tiredly and dropping his fork. "Kyle, come on, _please_ ," he begged.

"I don't want you going up out of the burrow anymore!" Sheila jumped on the opportunity immediately, same as she always did. "It's so dangerous up there! Between those _awful_ aikopia and the _aidarkeri_ , you have no reason to be outside!"

He rolled his eyes, "Can't gather nimikal'e if I'm not out there," he said coolly. "I know what I'm doing. Neither are a threat to me."

Ike snorted, "Oh _please_. _Maybe_ you can outrun an aikopia, I'll give you that. But the aidarkeri? They get to you and that's _it_ , Man. They'll find your bones and a note that says 'well his family shoulda warned him'."

Sheila's face dropped further in horror at the prospect as Kyle sighed and shook his head at the dramatics, continuing to gnaw through his berries and just waiting for her desperate pleas of reconsideration. "Kyle," she started worriedly. "Ike is right. You shouldn't be out there, not so close to them at least."

"Or at _least_ stay near the treagi," Gerald continued. "They're there to protect us, utilize your advantages, Son."

"I don't _need_ protection," he said calmly. "I can outfly aikopia or aidarkeri. Either one of 'em. And the treagi barely move from their one spot of training grounds, I need to venture further to find the information I need."

Sheila scoffed, "Or more of your aikopia _trash_." Kyle grabbed his water jar for a distraction, tapping his finger against it quietly. Their first discovery of his little obsession years before hadn't gone over so well, finding his stash one day while he was away and confronting him. _Forcing_ him to sneak it all back outside so no one would know just what it was he was getting himself into and risk trouble or Gerald's job in the tribe council. He just thanked the stars that they hadn't found his collection of their books, and that the kiantri had taught him long ago how to hollow out plant life, able to store his treasures out of sight from any nosey wanderers. But that in of itself wasn't enough to stop the lectures, the constant concern over his safety at the hands of the 'monsters' that lived above ground.

Kyle couldn't help a small smirk on the corner of his lips as he took a long gulp of water. He wondered how Kenny would think of this conversation, if he'd be cracking up at their wild assumptions or quietly enduring their unfounded racial bias. After all, he was the only one of his family, of his _tribe_ , maybe even of _all_ faterianea of this lifetime to make contact with a human. _He_ was the leading authority thus far, and he couldn't help the smugness settling warmly in his chest from the fact. He glanced up, seeing the three of them waiting expectantly and shrugging. "Were it not for their trash, we wouldn't have our nimikal'e," he reminded them. "So why don't we just sit here and be thankful for the aikopia being so very wasteful?"

"And dangerous," Ike sang.

"Not any more dangerous than the treagi," he parried. "In fact, less so. They aren't trained to kill, they're just living their lives and dropping trash in the woods. They're a blessing for us, whether you all choose to believe it or not."

Gerald shook his head solemnly, "Kyle. We've told you, you're playing it _far_ too fast and loose with them. What if one finds you? What if they kill you? How would we know?"

The both of them ignored Sheila's dramatic sound of dismay, the redhead glancing at the three of them again and frowning. "All right. Let's get one thing _super_ clear:" he started lowly. "Which one of us is the scholar here? Raise your wing!" he said, jerking out one of his appendages and bobbing it around wildly before letting it fold back alongside the others behind him. "Exactly. I'm the one with the books. I'm the one with the field experience. _I'm_ the one that the kiantri was perfectly fine with letting go to find his materials outside. You don't insult the treagi. You don't insult the _hunters_ or the _foragers_. So why are you lecturing _me_? I know more about the damn aikopia than all of them _combined_ so please, just back off and let me do. My. Job," he finished firmly, violently gnashing his teeth into another berry as he eyed them all for a retort.

Sheila sighed in defeat, dropping her head into her hands and shaking it slowly. "Why couldn't you have been fated as a carpenter?" she whimpered.

"Because I'm not very good at lifting heavy things," he rolled his eyes. "It's not my fault. The kiantri told me what I am, so I'm just doing what he says."

"Your job is to _benefit_ us," Gerald reminded him. "Not just collect nimikal'e. You aren't supposed to help by scavenging, Kyle."

He scoffed, "I'm a great multi-tasker. I can look for my things and take the notes on plants that Tweek and Becca need. I figured you two would be _happy_ that I work so closely with the kiantri."

"We _are_ ," he stressed. "Kyle, there's no higher honor than working directly for him, you know that I know that better than anyone," he gestured to himself. "But you're just…"

"His bitch," Ike said blandly, getting a glare from his parents before they looked back at Kyle tiredly.

Gerald sighed, "Well… in a way, yes," he admitted. "That is not your first job. Your _people_ are your first job. Do you understand?"

Kyle shook his head angrily, pushing away from the table and getting to his feet. "I'll decide what methods are best for _my_ field, thanks, Dad," he muttered, turning and ignoring his mother's pleas to come back and his father telling her to just let him be. He flew back up through the floors to his wall and pushed his way into his room, sinking exhaustedly. He was so tired of the same fucking argument, always being told the 'best' way for his talents to be utilized.

All they wanted him for was for plant studies. To confine him in the library. They wanted him to do nothing but take notes and be a studious little tool while everyone else got to _move_ in their profession. Kyle was no fool, knowing that the kiantri only allowed him his collecting job because of how restless he was, because he kept sneaking out of the burrow and he figured he may as well make it worth his time. But it was a double-edged sword. Sure, he had a reason to leave now, but it took up precious time he could be dedicating towards learning of the aikopia, and focusing on his _other_ little secret research.

He sighed, glancing out his window towards the kana'fale in the distance and shaking his head. He stepped back to his closet and forced open his library door, reaching in blindly and mentally counting until landing on the third book closest to him, pulling out his new tale of sailing. He grinned fondly, cocking his head and walking to his bed, moving his bag to plop down on the feather-stuffed mattress and stroking his fingers over the leather cover. He hummed, wondering just what it was that sailing was and shrugging to himself, cracking open the dirtied book. Well, either settling down and just letting himself figure it out through reading could solve it…

He smiled. Or tomorrow, _Kenny_ could.


	10. In the Word of Naichis

On any other day, the pungent stench of the bug carcasses grinding within his wooden mortar would've brought nothing short of a scowl to Kenny's face. The sickeningly sweet aroma tinged with the metallic bite of insect blood was certainly not his idea of a pleasant stench to wallow in, the skin of his nose still scrunching in the slightest as he worked. However, despite the disagreeable conditions, a smile continued to remain quirked on his lips, celestine irises sparkling as the pestle rolled in his palm. Stunning red pigment burst from gray, dried husks; his handmade equivalent of cramoisy curls breaking through the drab monotony he thought himself to be forever rooted in.

The back part of his mind was nothing less than stubborn, trying to convince him time and again that his chance encounter the day prior was nothing more than a hallucination brought on by years staring at fibers and wishing just a little too hard. But Kenny also knew himself well enough to know he wasn't nearly imaginative enough to have trapped himself in a dreamlike trance facing a creature he'd never thought possible, speaking words that flowed so soothingly and foreign. After all, he reminded himself, even the influence of Meryl's book had claimed Kyle's kind to be no bigger than his hand, and Kenny had more than a feeling that Kyle was small even by his people's standards. He was far too comfortable with Kenny's own stature, had made no offhand remarks about it despite how the blonde practically towered over him.

Ken hummed to himself, continuing to crush his cochineals into their fine, vibrant powder. Maybe he would ask Kyle about that later, if there were other kinds of creatures roaming around that the humans knew next to nothing about. He had no doubt; after all, the world was vast and expansive, and finding one unknown indicated more than enough that there were more missed opportunities lingering on the outskirts of humanity's jurisdiction. It was staggering and comforting all the same, knowing now for a _fact_ that there was more out there, but also dealing with the reality that he'd only experienced a fraction of what the world had to offer. This single taste had only intensified his hunger pains, a part of him wondering if he should start concocting notes on what to ask Kyle about so he didn't bombard him with inquiries at a rate that would overwhelm the redhead to the point he'd decide to keep the world of fairies a continued secret.

No, not fairies. _Faterianea_.

The word had been making the rounds in his work time and again, hearing the smooth slur of the new phrase from Kyle's tongue, trying to mimic it under his breath and out of his family's earshot. It was intriguing, Kenny wondering with a subtle, smug smirk if he was the first human to know of that word. If he was the one person in their world that now held onto a fraction of a secret society. Maybe it was the one thing that a McCormick could ever claim in the history of their family that they knew better than anyone else.

Kenny lifted his pestle from his work, placing his mortar flat on the table and lightly tapping the grinder against his free hand to dislodge clumped particles refusing to budge. Lightly, clicking his tongue as he moved, he reached to the other edge of the table and snagged his wooden dyeing bowl, dragging it closer and peering into the opening. The remains of years worth of red dye stained the inside, forever trapped in the unfinished pores and lingering with the acrid stench of his cochineal. With steady hands, he dumped his powder into the new vessel, grasping a pewter cup of steaming water and cautiously letting it dribble down the side of the bowl to coalesce with the dust. Soon enough, dye the shade of fresh blood sprang to life, Ken continuing to pour his water until reaching the pre-colored midline of the bowl. With a long, thin shim of steel he'd managed to convince Clyde's boss to give him from their scrap pile, he whisked his concoction, observing as clumps broke and consistency began to thin out. He let out a light gust of air to press steam out of his face, lifting his shim time and again to watch the liquid dribble off.

"Ya done with that yet?" Kevin's voice called from the backroom of the shop.

"Just about!" he answered. "C'mon in!" He spared a glance towards the back alcove as Kevin made his way through the shop, taking extra precaution to keep stained hands and clothes from coming into contact with any of Kenny's fabrics. The younger couldn't help but smile, always grateful for the respect that Kevin paid him and his work, despite his relentless lighthearted teasing of his 'woman's work'.

Kevin stepped up beside him, watching as he continued to stir his mixture and smirking lightly. "Thanks for dealin' with that, Ken. Damn leaves wouldn't unstick."

He gave a casual raise of his shoulder, "It happens. Gets me away from my needle for a bit. My eyes are pretty thankful for that," he chuckled.

The brunette leaned against the table and watched him work, Kenny occasionally catching a glimpse of Kevin's calloused hands. He frowned to himself, wishing he could get the blisters from off his skin. He thought once he'd gotten his brother into the shop that his life of labor would be over, not accounting for the strength and endurance it took to toil over a boiling cauldron for hours on end, baking in the sun. But, to his credit, Kevin never once made a fuss about the extraneous effort that he had to put into making Kenny's foldable canvases burst with life. In fact, if Kenny had to harbor a guess, he'd think that his brother enjoyed the task he'd been handed. He'd noticed throughout their time working together that there were certain colors needed that Kevin's brown eyes would spark at. He seemed to get enjoyment out of the simpler recipes, taking great care to match shades to Kenny's particular requests and getting a nice dose of self-satisfaction out of a good job. There were no doubt moments that had him groaning; such as grating pieces of tree bark for an hour straight just for a yard of beige tiretain. But, Kenny assumed, he must have a great deal of enjoyment despite the monotony as opposed to digging crop trenches as he did for so many years.

Kenny shot the elder a bit of a wince, "How's it goin' out there?"

Kevin shrugged, scratching up through tangled hair. "'Bout as well as ever. The girls are still messing with their threads tryin' t' get 'em out n' dried. Havin' some trouble with all the rain, though. We need a new cover out there. And Pops is… _mostly_ pullin' his share of the work."

He let out a long sigh through his nose, shaking his head, "Well, thank _you_ for keepin' the pace at least." Kevin gave him a small smile and nodded, Kenny pulling out his shim a final time, checking for still-undissolved particles and nodding approvingly. Steel thumped against the lip of the wooden bowl as he saved every droplet he could, laying it precariously atop the container before handing it off to Kevin. "There ya go, one bug graveyard."

Kevin snorted lightly, giving another nod. "Ya should make that some of yer marketin'. 'Come in and see our corpse tunics'."

The blonde grinned, "They're t' die for." Kevin rolled his eyes, elbowing him lightly before making his way back out to the back of the shop, heading off to place the mixture in his cauldron to boil down further with a handful of marigolds. Kenny needed a vibrant aurnola, after all; a vivid orange for the workers out in the fields before dawn so the those directing the horses with their turning plows would notice them upon the balks. Catches easier in the moonlight, the farmer had told him. He'd lost three this season already from a guide not noticing a poor soul in the pathway and running him straight down. Hooves had trampled them into the soft soil before fifty pounds of steel would slide over them and try to furrow them same as the dirt. The farmer needed nothing more than sashes, he insisted, trying to get the best for his money and locking Kenny in a haggling duel for his bulk purchase for nearly ten minutes. Not that Kenny wanted to cheat the guy for trying to care for his workers, but a mere five haithins for nearly thirty pieces of work would bankrupt him in a heartbeat.

But, he supposed, that was just the pattern of their village.

They all wanted to care for one another, but then screw them over the moment they got the opportunity to save a tempet or two. From the stories he'd heard from travelers, the concept wasn't exactly exclusionary to their home, but it was nonetheless a fact that Kenny had trouble fully accepting. A hefty breath seeped from his nostrils, blue eyes glistening over somberly. That fact alone made him doubt Kyle's earlier statements, his people didn't _actually_ know how to adapt. Sure, they'd managed to make a livable society, few disruptions and whatnot as they sat nestled in their quiet mountain town, but was that truly adapting? Or, Kenny wondered, was it just _acquiescence_? After all, a truly thriving species would look out for their brothers, right? Make the attempt to further themselves along as a unit as opposed to shoving down the others as they fought for the same benefits of life?

He grimaced. Perhaps that was naïve, remembering with a start catching a pair of stray dogs one day fighting each other for the chance to delve into a discorded morsel of meat on the dirt path outside his shop. Self-preservation seemed to be the order of the day regardless of the species. After all, he couldn't just _give_ his wares away, he reminded himself. He had to charge them, and regardless of how fair he attempted to keep his pricing, he still needed to take from his neighbors in order to keep himself and his family alive.

With slumping shoulders, he turned back to head to his work table, rubbing a sleeve of tiretain in his fingers and staring blankly at the stitching. Maybe he was just too caught up in the pretty words that spilled from Kyle's mouth in their clunky, but proper fashion. Perhaps he was too swept away in his mythical discovery to truly let his theory's words take hold. After all, Kyle could read about people all he wanted, but Kenny _lived_ this life. The fairy making his observations held nearly the same weight as if Kenny informed Kyle of some truth regarding _his_ culture. From Kyle's clothing to his rudimentary tools and fascination with the simplest of items, the tailor could only assume that their world hadn't shifted quite so quickly as his own; that _they_ weren't caught in a constant race of trying to not only keep up with the ebbing tides, but to be first in line to help guide the next torrent. Kenny figured from Kyle's hesitance at his own dreams of progression, they were fairly stasis with how they operated, comfortable with the life that had been made for them.

He sighed, dropping the fabric back onto the table, propping his chin in his palm and glancing out his window to stare off into the distant woods once again. Maybe he was being too harsh with the redhead's assumption. After all, he didn't have the bias that Kenny had found himself wormed into throughout his lifetime. Kyle didn't know the austere truths that laid within private homesteads, he'd never seen human families turning against one another for something so trivial as an opinion. But, he also hadn't seen communities in their rare occurrences as they came together to overcome an obstacle. Only a handful of times had Kenny witnessed such an event, such as when the previous nalian of their andell's home burnt to the ground; the little village coming together to rebuild the home and feed the nalian's family, provide them shelter until they were placed back into the homestead they belonged in. Kenny questioned whether Kyle had ever seen such acts among the humans, based his theories of accommodation on a singular instance such as that.

It didn't truly matter in the end; what mattered was that he'd found this creature that harbored such a mutual fascination. Kenny couldn't help the coy grin spreading along his lips, fabric sliding once more within his fingers and a nail dragging over the texture rigid as sand. Maybe this was putting the fairy's hypothesis to the test, seeing how well he could handle being faced with the appearance of an unknown world spreading beneath him like throughout a mushroom's hyphae.

Kenny jerked out of his daydreaming at the sound of the storefront's door opening and hopped onto his feet, easily beating down his mystical wanderings and plastering on that customer service smile. He made way towards whomever was entering his shop, stride grinding to a halt as a familiar rotund figure backed into the room with a crate. Blue eyes narrowed suspiciously, "Cartman, what the fuck are you doing here?" he demanded.

Cartman looked back at him and scoffed, turning on his heel and kicking the door shut, Ken wincing at the loud crack ringing within his shop. That door was already on its last goddamn legs; it didn't need any assistance winding down to its last hurrah. "I was _trying_ to be considerate and deliver a special order, Po'Boy," he said thickly, tone dripping with insulted malice. Kenny crossed his arms, watching as the man made his slow way towards the table and placed the wooden box down atop the surface, eyes gleaming the color of pine bark shavings as he redirected his focus back to the tailor.

"You _never_ make home deliveries," he said flatly. "I think this is the third time you've even been in my fucking store. And I didn't even _make_ any special orders!"

He rolled his eyes, plump hand running up through his hair as he gave the tailor a lazy shrug. "Maybe I just wanted some fuckin' fresh air, Kinny. Ever think of that?"

"Uh huh," he muttered, watching him skeptically as he walked over to peer inside the crate, face brightening in disbelief at a beautiful mess of leaves waiting for him and glistening like a beacon of better things to come. "You got my woad?!"

"I did," he said boastfully, flicking a piece of lint from his airy sleeve.

Kenny gaped in astonishment, reaching into the box and pulling out the haphazardly tied bag of long, thin leaves. He could've cried, knowing how much _simpler_ this made his blue dyeing orders. No longer would there be a mess of grounding different leaf varieties and carefully measuring out lime juice, playing with the mixture for hours or _days_ before finally getting the shades he needed. No, no now they were back in business, and just in time for the season of more vibrant, lively colors to take place. He grinned over at the impatient brunette. "I thought it was out of season! How'd you find it?"

Cartman gave a small quirk of his lips, "It's out of season in the _southern_ part of the land. Apparently up North it's still plenty temperate enough to grow your dumb leaves."

"How'd you find that out?" he gave a small cough of a laugh, focusing back down upon his treasure.

"Heard a rumor," he shrugged again. "Found someone willing to work with me."

He bit his lip in glee. "Holy shit, Cartman, _thank you_. You have _no_ idea how much easier this is going to make this summer's orders."

He smacked his lips in boredom, "Mhm. Well. Just so you know… there _is_ a bit of a surcharge considering how much work it took me to procure this for you."

Kenny paused, glancing over at his smug grin and his chest twisted. He should've figured. He placed the bag onto the table and crossed his arms again. "But I didn't _ask_ you to go looking for it."

"Every fucking _year_ you _bitch_ about how this season runs you dry because no one in the South can send you blue fabrics," he reminded him harshly. "I got you the shit to make it yourself this year and you're gonna fucking bitch about _that_?"

"I'm gonna bitch because this is an order I didn't ask for that you're trying to sell me!" he bit back. "I'll pay you the regular cost of the woad and whatever the fuck your tax is, but I'm not going to hand over all of my savings for this!"

Amber eyes narrowed dangerously, "I haven't even told you _what_ the surcharge would be!"

"Yeah," he scoffed, leaning back against the table and scowling, "but I know _you_."

He leaned up closer towards his face, "Do you know how many hoops I had to leap through just for you?" he demanded. "Getting imports from the North isn't cheap for us, Kinny!"

"Which is why I keep my supply coming from the _South_ ," he drawled. "And speaking of, why the fuck doesn't Iresa keep a stock on hand so we can get it from them?"

Cartman rubbed his eyes in frustration with his forefinger and thumb. How Kenny had kept a business open on his own was far beyond him. "Because it's _expensive_ ," he reminded him. "They'll order enough for their own seamstresses to deal with, not enough to export back out."

"Okay, one, don't _fucking_ call me a seamstress," he snapped, beyond sick of this argument they'd had for a good decade now. "And for another, how expensive are we talking?"

The merchant looked between him and the bag of foliage before landing back up towards the blonde, giving him a subtle raise of his shoulder. "That's half a pound. Should last you well into winter."

" _Maybe_ fall," he drawled. "Takes a lot to make one batch of color, Fatass."

"Well, either way, the whole thing will be about five haithins."

Kenny's eye twitched. " _Five_?" he hissed. "That's barely what I'll make off of half the fucking supply!"

Cartman leaned his head back and growled up at the mud-caked ceiling. "Look, I don't set the goddamn prices, Po'Boy. I'm just the fucking deliverer."

"Of items that no one asked you for," he reminded him lowly. He let out an exasperated sigh, head dropping into his palm and staring at the ground. Five haithins wasn't going to bankrupt him by a mile, but every goddamn cent counted right now, knowing that he needed to start saving to up the heavier fabrics as winter began crawling its way towards their village. He glanced back up at Cartman's waiting expression and heaved another sigh. "How much did _you_ pay to get them delivered?"

"Three haithin and thirty-five," he answered. "So _your_ payment covers the product, the travels, and my meager tax."

Kenny licked over his lips and nodded slowly, "Five haithins _only_ if you omit half your tax from the next four orders."

Cartman narrowed his eyes, " _Excuse_ me?"

He shrugged, "You're still making a profit, and that's all that goddamn matters to you, ain't it? Or do I need to go get Token in here to work out a better payment plan since we're at a buyer's disagreement? One that, let's face it, he'd give _me_ the upper hand in since I treat 'im a lot better than _you_. Either take it or you walk out of here in the hole, Fatass. Make the call."

His eye twitched, fingers dropping down onto Kenny's workstation and drumming them along rapidly, heaving a deep breath through his nostrils. A sharp glare fell onto the blonde, Cartman letting out an angered groan. "The next _two_ orders," he countered.

"Three. Take it or leave it."

A growl seeped through his throat, "Fine. Fucking rob me and my mother of our home why don't you?"

Kenny reached down into his change pouch, fishing around for the telltale large golden coins as he shrugged nonchalantly. "You're the one making unnecessary purchases. I'm really doing _you_ the favor here."

"What about 'how much easier it'll make summer'?" he mocked in a high tone.

"Easier doesn't mean it's _necessary_ ," he drawled, fishing out his coins at last and tossing them onto the table beside his hands. "We would've managed regardless."

Cartman scoffed, swiping the change and his emptied crate to take back to his own shop. "Please. Poor _trash_ like you is always looking for the easier route."

Kenny paused, eyes flickering out his window towards the trees once more, watching the soft patter of rain slipping through leaves in the distance. He turned back, facing Cartman with a small, modest smirk. "Trust me, you have _no_ idea what you're talking about."

* * *

" _And within the days they traveled, they remained steady as the current. Along the still tide they marched on towards the sun as it painted the ocean in thick blankets of rose, stretching towards them like blood spilling from the sky itself, punctured with the prow of their ship as they continued onwards towards Marianne and the sweet hymn she sang from across the world."_

Kyle cocked his head, glancing towards the opened, handwritten book beside of him and licking over his lips. He dabbed his quill into its accompanying inkwell propped delicately on a closed book atop his mattress, flipping page upon page until landing on a spattering of words of 'C'. "Curr…ent," he pronounced slowly as he wrote it out, glancing between the novel and his writing. He hummed, tapping the edge of his boned quill against his lips as he studied the prose before him. Slowly and with a wince, he let his hand continue onwards, a hyphen followed by an entry of ' _lakail'e?'_.

The fairy sighed, hoping he was close enough with that one, grateful to an extent that he now had someone to check these word interpretations for him. He carefully flipped forward in his book towards the 'H's', narrowing his gaze at the strange word before him. "Hi…yem?" he squinted. "Hay…man?" he tried again, writing down the term 'hymn' within his notes and growling to himself in frustration. Why did humans have to make their language so _difficult_? He glanced back into his novel, tapping his thumb against the page and clicking his tongue, gaze lingering on the word 'sang'. "So… a _song_?" he guessed, shrugging to himself and scribbling down a quick _'eplaiti'_. Closest he was going to get, he figured.

A sharp rapping caught his attention, body freezing in fear and glancing towards his window, practically throwing himself onto his human book and gazing through the glowing lights illuminating his room to glance out the pane. He cocked his brow, seeing a familiar black-haired figure waving at him frantically, shoulders dropping in relief. Carefully, Kyle gathered his inkwell and quill, setting them safely on the table beside his bed before flittering onto his feet, quickly making way towards the window and pulling it open to the beaming face of his best friend. "Stan, what the fuck are you doing?" he demanded. "I have a door!"

"Yeaahhhh, but your mom was outside telling your neighbor that she couldn't believe 'your attitude'," he quoted.

Kyle groaned, looking down into Stan's arms at a happily panting face whimpering impatiently for Kyle's attention. "Why did you bring Spar'ki?"

"Because he misses you," Stan cooed, awkwardly holding the chestnut-furred coyote up to Kyle's face, a hot tongue making quick work to pass over the redhead's features.

"Aw aw awwww!" he batted him away, stepping back from the glass and wiping at his cheek dramatically as Stan slipped into the room, setting the all-too-happy dog back onto the ground to go towards Kyle again and jump up to pin him against his wall by his shoulders. Kyle rolled his eyes, scratching behind his ear as he was drowned in love from Stan's faithful companion. "Why does your fucking mutt love me so much?" he muttered.

He shrugged, giving him a small grin. "Because most animals seem to like you?" Kyle grimaced. He couldn't exactly deny that. He'd never had a problem approaching deer and birds before, some going so far as to approach _him_ even as he tried to spook them away so he could focus on whatever his task-at-hand happened to be. The taller grinned cheekily, "' _The spirit of Leiata'nea has been reborn within you,'"_ voice dropping to mock the elderly tone of one of the kiantri's proud speeches towards the redhead that he was lucky enough to pay witness to.

Kyle's face erupted in color, shoving Spar'ki back onto the floor, the dog just looking more than happy for any of Kyle's attention regardless of the intent. " _Fuck you_ ," he spat, Stan breaking into laughter at the embarrassment flooding over his features. Kyle grunted, shoulder-checking Stan and moving to sit on his bed, Spar'ki immediately following and sitting beside him, leaning his head atop his half-bared thigh and staring up at him wistfully. He sighed in defeat, going back to giving him head scratches, the dog relishing in the pampering treatment. Kyle fucking hated how the kiantri had called him that, a fucking _queen_ that was born from the roots of the earth and raised by trees. She was a symbol of natural _harmony_ , something that the kiantri contradicted himself on time and again comparing Kyle to _Tetima_ of all figures. But, she had the uncanny ability to intrigue and to quell animals, a feat Kyle found himself in the midst of time and again when one of the tribespeople's dogs got just a little too restless being cooped up in the mountain.

Stan's chuckling finally died down, wiping a dramatic tear from his eye as he plopped down on the bed next to him, elbowing him lightly. "So, how'd you piss your mom off this time?"

Kyle glanced over at him, the pure curiosity overlaying a lightly tanned face, golden from his daily ventures to the outside to train for battle. Why he managed to gain such skin tone and Kyle somehow only turned burnt was beyond him. The tall man still beamed with the heat of the sun from his excursions, a light layer of sweat just barely dried, Kyle only able to figure he'd come straight over after arriving back home. "Make a _wild_ guess," he drawled.

"Oh there's so many options though," he rolled his eyes amusedly. "Was it leaving the burrow? Being late? Aikopia? What're we dealin' with here?"

"All the above," he muttered, looking down as Spar'ki licked his hand in comfort, the canine feeling the upset tone settling within his touch. "We got into it pretty good last night."

Stan twisted his lips sympathetically, looking back behind Kyle at the book laying atop his pillow. He quirked a thick, black brow, reaching over and snagging it from its place, turning it and narrowing his eyes at the foreign lettering. "What's this say?" he asked, pointing to the book cover.

"To Sail with Them," Kyle answered, giving a shrug. "I found it in the woods today." A lie. He'd swiped it two nights before from the village and hidden it until he had more of a stash to bring home, not willing to risk toting his papers into the burrow every day lest his mother instill a surprise 'bag inspection' policy on him. "It's about three friends going to find one of their _catavi_ by water. They call their catavi a _wife_ ," he let the unfamiliar sound flow off his tongue.

"Wiiife," he repeated slowly, letting out a short, amused huff. "How do they find her in the water? Does she live in it? Is she a fish?" His face twisted, "Ew, do the aikopia mate with animals?"

"No!" he insisted. "At least… I hope not," he shuddered, making a mental note to question Kenny on that one later. "Apparently aikopia can travel along water," he said, face falling out of its disgusted state straight into a look of utter fascination. "They go along it to reach destinations not of their land… Isn't that _neat_?" he smiled brightly.

Stan snorted, patting his head a bit, "Sure, Bud. It's neat. I'm sure it's just some kind of myth, though."

He pouted, "No, no, it's not!" he protested, grabbing the book and flipping to the front, finding an inked illustration and pointing to it firmly. "You see? This is a… boat? Or a ship? I-I'm not sure which it is, it's a little confusing," he admitted bashfully. "But they make them from wood! And they use them to travel on rivers and lakes and any other kind! In the book, they're traveling the entire _world_ in one to find his catavi!"

Stan blinked, scratching up through thick black locks and chuckling a bit. "Well… isn't that something?"

Kyle's posture slackened, "How do you not think that's _amazing_?" he half-whined. "They're so… resourceful," he said fondly, clutching around his book preciously, ignoring the licks his leg was suffering from by Spar'ki.

"Ky. Stop getting a boner for the aikopia for one minute," Stan said dryly, smirking a bit at a glare coming from his best friend. " _This_ is why your mom is always so fucking paranoid over you."

"My mother is paranoid over me because she's insane," he scoffed. "They're harmless like… like Spar'ki," he gestured to the coyote, the dog beaming at Kyle mentioning his name and hopping a bit impatiently on his floor. "He _could_ attack and bite my arms off, but he won't because he's not that way."

Stan raised his brow, "I _trained him_ to not be that way. No one is out there training aikopia. There's a _reason_ the treagi prepare for in case we see one of them."

Kyle's face fell darkly, "Yeah. It's called speciesism."

"It's _called_ being safe and keeping our people alive," he reminded him firmly. "Ky, I know you love their stuff, but you're a little… _too_ into it," he winced.

The redhead narrowed his eyes, "You're not allowed to pull that shit. You're the _last_ faterian to be able to tell me it's 'for safety' when you fucking hate it as much as I do."

"I hate the _process_ , not the results," he quirked his brow. "Nothing wrong with keeping our people safe, Kyle." Kyle rolled his eyes dramatically, clutching his book again and looking down at Spar'ki's scruffy face, the hues of tree bark and coal smeared across his coat and shining in the bright light beaming from his ceiling of enchanted glass pieces. Kyle was no fool, his best friend, his _naichi_ , meant no harm with his stinging words. He was the only other being alive that knew just how deep Kyle's little obsession ran. Well, _close_ to knowing at least. He had no idea how close he'd gotten, even before his chance encounter with Kenny. If he knew how many times he'd snuck out to get himself a piece of village property, he'd make damn sure to be the one ensuring that Kyle would stop risking his neck for what he referred to as his 'odd little hobby'.

It'd taken _years_ for the noirette to correct his speech around the younger, raised from childhood into a strong-willed soldier, taught since day one that there were two enemies that needed prioritized, the aidarkeri and, even more of a potential danger, the aikopia. Nothing but _hateful propaganda_ , Kyle had claimed after observing one of the treagi's _rilastes_ making a grandiose speech of the death and destruction that aikopia brought about to the world to their tribe. Stan recalled that day, standing beside his rilaste and looking out into the crowd, seeing faces of awe and horror before landing on his best friend's expression, reading nothing but pure infuriation for the insinuations against his pet project, but forcing himself to remain throughout the hateful speech as to not draw attention to himself. Kyle made it his personal mission to 'educate' Stan about just what it was he'd been misinformed on. If he could get _one_ of the soldiers to see the truth, he hypothesized, then maybe the message could be spread easier than if he were to go it all alone. That plan hadn't quite gone the way he'd envisioned all those years ago, barely into his fifteenth year at the time and full of far too many big dreams to comprehend just what a monumental task he was undertaking.

The obsession had spurned off when he was a tiny fateri of only nine, sneaking up to the world above for the first time and happening upon an aikopian father and his child travelling the woods together, the redhead hiding in the trees and watching in fascination, listening to those foreign sounds slipping so fluidly like music around their environment. He was enchanted by the strange accent, the way that they seemed to move with such little poise, clunkily meandering about without a care in the world. He'd swiped his first book on that day, one left behind as they went to search for a deer off and away and Kyle rushing back home to show Stan his new treasure, rambling on and on about how he could do it, he could be the _one_ faterian who understood the aikopia. At the time, they only knew what they _both_ considered to be nothing more than tall tales of aikopian horrors meant to keep them in their beds at night; neither had the slightest idea that the stories never faded, that the stories of personal destruction brought about by the sons of light were eternal within children and adults alike.

Stan had believed in their youth that it was _funny_ watching his best friend struggling to make sense of the nonsense book he'd brought back home, spending hours doing nothing more than staring at it, copying down lettering despite his inability to read it, just trying to master the art of their scripting. How luck had turned in his favor upon reaching their eleventh year, when Kyle brought home an armful of books one night 'left in the trees by an aikopian teacher', he'd sheepishly claimed. Suddenly, _everything_ was about the outside world, Kyle's nose rarely coming out of his secret studies, Stan watching him while not in training, absorbed entirely by the captivation his naichi had, the energy he gave off when finding himself mastering a letter or word. Stan had realized in that time of their youth that Kyle had been placed exactly where he belonged, declared a man of the paper in infancy. Perfect positioning for a boy that ached so badly for knowledge, got such a thrill out of learning the simplest of things.

Kyle, however, was not so happy with Stan's positioning within their tribe, watching as his friend rose through treagi ranks over the years. Stan was great at what he did, despite personal qualms with using violence as an answer and a habitual nausea at the mere _thought_ of spilt blood. Despite it all, he somehow managed to work his way up the ladder, becoming a prospect for the next rilaste once the current passed on. He'd sworn up and down to Kyle that he hadn't even _tried_ to get to where he was, but Kyle knew him too well for his own good. Where he wanted to be or not, Stan needed distraction and would sink into anything that held his attention. And training was _all_ he truly had, his education only as high as a fateri's, only slightly ahead of his peers due to Kyle making damn sure he had more under his belt than merely being able to spell.

It was a careful game of balancing the two had had to learn to adjust to, to make the other more than just what their declared profession had become. Kyle had taught Stan larger words and grander concepts, and Stan had made sure that Kyle could protect himself when he ventured above, taking the time to teach him how to master a bow since Kyle's ability to wield a heavy weapon such as his own was a bit of a stretch. It was their staple since nearly infancy, growing up side-by-side with a quill and a weapon in either of their hands but managing to handle all the tribulations of their peers for being so closely knit with the other. Kyle's intellectual friends were off-put by the brutality that Stan could so easily inflict on a faterian, despite the redhead consistently emphasizing his kind nature. And Stan's fellow soldiers did nothing but relentlessly tease Kyle for his lean stature, despite Stan knowing damn well that, given the chance, Kyle had a hell of a possibility at messing one of them up in hand-to-hand combat.

"So, you're back in the burrow early," Stan commented casually, laying back on Kyle's bed and staring up at the glass shards coating his ceiling. He'd always loved seeing the array of hues that Kyle enchanted the pieces with, his friend being one of the few able to instill such ethereal light into the vessels, hand-taught by the kiantri after years of begging to learn some of his magics for himself.

Kyle glanced down at Spar'ki's happy face, giving a small shrug and falling back to land beside him, grimacing as the dog hopped up onto his bed and laid his head down upon Kyle's stomach. "Becca needed a certain plant, so I brought it home. I'll probably head back out later," he said quietly.

He smirked, elbowing him lightly, "Remember when they had the foragers get their plants instead of you being their bitch?"

"And they messed up almost every single time?" he cocked a thin brow. "It's better if I'm running the errand. We're not wasting time and getting a stock in the _toli'fale_ of unusable fucking weeds." Stan chuckled and nodded in agreement, Kyle's eyes softening and a sigh escaping his lips. "Did you see the rainbow out there when you were training?" he asked softly.

Stan blinked, "Rain… bow?" he repeated. "The fuck are you talking about?"

"The sky colors," he elaborated, looking over at his naichi. "It was stretched across the world," he motioned his arm along his ceiling, eyes glittering with sentiment. "The aikopia call it a rainbow… it was amazing."

The soldier narrowed his eyes in thought, "Oh. Yeah, I think I saw some of through the trees. I was kind of busy trying not to get my feet all muddy from the rain," he snorted.

"What's wrong with mud? It's just lakail'e and talei, nothing wrong with it."

"It's messy?" he stressed. "You hate getting fucking dust on your tunic what are you talking about nothing being wrong with it?"

Kyle let out a lengthy sigh, petting along Spar'ki's neck, feeling him falling asleep and beginning to gently snore atop his abdomen. "It's different out there. It's new… you don't get rainbows down here. Colors like that don't just pop up from nowhere."

"We have _plenty_ of colors," he reminded him, pointing to his multicolored ceiling. "Look at all the colors _you_ made. No aikopia can do that."

He shrugged, "No aikopia makes rainbows either. They're natural. I thought they were just in their stories but… but I saw it and I just wanted to fly up and touch it, ya know? Like, if Tav'nokana made something like that, why aren't we up there? Why aren't we enjoying it?"

Stan couldn't help but laugh quietly, "Ky, you're getting philosophical on me again."

"But do you have an answer?" he looked over at him, dark blue eyes falling to the side to meet his stare. Stan's laughter tapered off and he cleared his throat softly, offering nothing more than a simple shrug. Kyle hummed under his breath, turning back to stare at the ceiling with his companion. "I had to make my colors," he murmured. "Their sky grows its own."

"So you have more talent than the aikopia," he shrugged again. "You can do things they can't."

"And they can do a lot more than I can," he reminded him solemnly, fingers tracing mindlessly along Spar'ki's narrow skull, feeling his ear twitch lightly as he brushed over it. "Otherwise my mother will throw a fit and convince the kiantri to take me under his wings or something."

Stan smirked, elbowing him a bit, "He pretty much already has. Dude, forget about their fucking rainbows or whatever. Just keep reading their stories and shit if it makes you happy, but don't focus on what they have."

"It's hard not to," he admitted. "They don't live in a cage."

"Neither do _you_ ," he quirked his brow. "We have the entire mountain range to go through-"

"Yeah, because other tribes look upon that so well," he drawled. "And it's just more of the same. Same fucking cage, just a trip away from the last… the aikopia are so lucky," he whispered.

Stan beat his head against Kyle's mattress a bit, letting out a frustrated sigh. He hated when Kyle got like this, and it was more often than he cared to admit. He'd more than once been out in the village with Kyle, on a rant about something or other and looking over to see his friend staring up towards the entrance to their mountainous home, green eyes glittering with wonder and a complete detachment from his reality underground. "Ky… maybe you need to start focusing more on your job," he suggested, wincing as sharp jades cut across him at once with a tinge of malice. "Look I'm _just_ saying, you have responsibilities and-"

"And I'm fulfilling them along with learning what matters to _me_ ," he said sharply, sitting up and startling Spar'ki awake. "So. When did the kiantri decide to send you here to talk some sense into me, hm?"

The soldier blinked, cringing guiltily and moving to sit up beside him. He didn't know why he was surprised, Kyle always seemed to figure this type of thing out within moments. "When I got home," he murmured. "He's worried that you're losing focus."

"My _focus_ is supposed to be benefitting our people," he reminded him coldly. "And what I'm doing _is_ beneficial. I'm getting nimikal'e, I'm doing the research Becca and Tweek need. I just _happen_ to have a side hobby. So the fuck what?"

"Dude, you know _I_ don't care that you're into the aikopia stuff," he waved towards the closed novel aimlessly. "I'm just saying that there's a line and you're super close to crossing it."

' _Pretty sure I crossed your imaginary line when I was nine, Stan_ ,' he thought tiredly. "I'm doing my job," he re-emphasized. "No one has any _right_ to tell me how to do what I do in my spare time. That includes my mother, you, _and_ the kiantri."

He winced, "He kind of _does_ have final say. He could keep you locked down here if he wanted to."

Kyle scoffed, "I'd fucking sneak out then. I'm not here to be his fucking nimikal'e _bitch_ ," he echoed from the night prior. His shoulders sank, looking down into Spar'ki's sad eyes and sighing. "I just want more than what they're letting me have, Stan."

"You get the same treatment as everyone else," he reminded him softly, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Look, it's lame that he made me come talk to you, I know. But-"

"Exactly," he said bitterly. "He's dictating my life. I'm supposed to expand my horizons, but he only wants me to do so within his jurisdiction. That's not how learning _works_ , Stan. You build and you build and eventually it breaks and you have to go further than a book. Why doesn't anyone _get that_?"

He shrugged, face twisted sympathetically. "Because only a couple of people are in your position? We don't have much of a sample size to go off of. All of the kiantri's lessons come from Tav'nokana's teachings, so I guess he just doesn't know what else there is."

He nodded sharply, "Right. Her teachings are limited to story only. Everything else though… there's so much _more_ that I just can't _understand_ without going out of _their_ comfort zone…" he sighed, looking over and out his window towards the fading nimikal'e lights and shaking his head, pushing Spar'ki off his lap and getting to his feet. "I'm going back out before it gets too dark."

Stan nodded slowly, standing beside him and both of them looking down as Spar'ki hopped down, shaking his head a bit and panting, staring up at his two favorite faterians eagerly. "Want me to come with you? Just because you're pretty wound up?"

Kyle shook his head, "No. No, I really just want to be alone right now." Another lie. Stan just wasn't the company that he was looking forward to at this particular moment. Besides, the soldier would probably murder Kenny if he so much as caught a glimpse of the blonde being anywhere near himself. "I'm just gonna go… sketch and calm down," he said slowly, grabbing his book satchel and carefully moving it around his wings.

Stan let out a long breath, giving a quiet whistle and bending down, Spar'ki obediently leaping up into his arms. He looked at the shorter sadly, "Look, just be careful all right? Try to get home before it's nighttime."

"I got it covered, Mom, thanks," he drawled. He watched Stan shrug sheepishly and head towards his window, shoulders sinking guiltily. He knew his friend well enough to know he wouldn't have asked him these questions and made such assumptions without good intent behind them. He never went off on Kyle just because he _felt_ like it. Besides, Stan was far more sworn to the kiantri's word than Kyle himself, at least in practice. He wouldn't exactly have an option if their leader had sent him off with a message. "Stan?" he said softly, the noirette whirling back around and blinking at him. "Sorry I'm so pissed off. Thanks for not… being a dick about all this. You're the only one who isn't," he murmured dejectedly.

Stan snorted, "Because I'm the only one who knows how you get about this shit. I don't wanna deal with your goddamn temper, the guys'll never let me live it down if _you_ give me a black eye." Kyle's face finally broke into a soft smile, Stan returning the expression. "Look, just be careful and I don't give a _shit_ what you do, all right? I'm not your parent, I'm just the messenger…" He paused, giving a small shrug, "Though… you gonna be in the toli'fale tomorrow or sometime before next week?"

Kyle cocked his head, "Uh, I can be? I usually get back in the afternoon on _Pali_ since we go to kana'fale fairly early."

"I kind of have a stupid orders test… can you help me study?" he winced.

Kyle rolled his eyes amusedly, "That's all I am to you is a fucking walking book, aren't I?"

He grinned cheekily, "And I'm just a war brute to you, so I guess we're at an impasse."

The redhead chuckled, giving him a small nod. "Yeah, I'll help. Be there late afternoon after training or whatever."

"Will do," he saluted, stepping up to his window and leaning back, brown wings sprouting from his shoulder blades and catching him as his weight fell backwards. "I'll see ya later, be careful, Ky."

"It's what I do best," he smiled awkwardly, waving a bit as Spar'ki barked for his attention yet again before Stan turned and took off down the way towards his own home. Kyle watched after him, shoulders sinking lightly as he moved to grasp his bow and quiver. He brought the weapon up towards his face, thumb sliding aimlessly along the intricately carved pattern within the handle, specially ordered by Stan himself just for him. If his naichi had the _slightest_ idea of what he was setting off to do, he'd probably lock Kyle up himself. He'd declare a burrow emergency and make the special plea to his rilaste to gather the treagi to form a constant barricade around the redhead, just in case he'd been targeted by the 'evils' of the aikopia.

Kyle's face set in determination, slinging his quiver over his shoulder and moving to drop out of his window, green wings flittering with nervous energy as he slid the pane shut. Oh well. Stan, his mother, and the kiantri could worry over him all they wanted. Kyle knew what was a safe limit for him, what was best for him to further his work. He glanced up, face breaking into a smile as he glided back swiftly behind their home to head off and away towards his exit. And what was best for him should only be a few minutes away, waiting for him in enthrallment and not the slightest hint of disregard for his actions.

Kenny was _just_ what he needed right now.


	11. Cascading Ambition

The first time he'd held a leaved quill in his hand, Kyle had been nothing short of overwhelmed. His father had taught him how to script before fateri lessons were set to begin for the season, goaded on by the kiantri to make sure that Kyle was always on top of his game, that he'd always be at least a single step ahead of his peers to prepare for the life that had been designated for him. For days upon days, his _ritani_ sat with him at their kitchen table, leading the young fateri through the motions, advising him on proper amount of ink to dip into, guiding Kyle's tiny hand along to master all forty-seven characters of script. Kyle had realized with a start after a particularly clumsily slip of his left hand skewing across the page, the line running from a broad, vibrant stroke to no more than a thinning hair from his movement, just how much _potential_ he held in his slim fingers.

The notion was astounding, the young boy making it habitual practice to always have a quill and a small inkwell with him tied to his belt, something that pleased his parents and the kiantri alike. But rather than his mere studious notes pouring upon the pages of his blank leather-bound tomes, he found himself enthralled with using his newfound opportunity to make _all_ things come to life on his page. From the tender age of his immediate post-toddling years, before his wings could support him and he learned to fly with Stan, he would walk with his mother around their village as she shopped, a blank parchment in his hand. He would dart his head around, wide pools of jade searching until he would find something that fully grasped his attention, making it his mission to put it down, to take it home with him in lines of ink. For many a season he would draw, finding various plants and items around his burrow home that he would deem worthy of projecting onto his page.

And, as he entered the outside world, he realized with a start that there were so _many more_ potential pieces yet left to be copied for his personal gain.

Before he knew it, book upon book was filled with sketches and notes of his aikopian findings, knowing that he couldn't take them home with him, just needing _something_ to remind himself that yes, this item he'd found had been _real_. The humans were out there, wandering beyond his forest home, just _waiting_ for him to be their discoverer. For so long he'd spent time perfecting his craft, handling Stan laughing at his drawings and asking him why he was 'dreaming up' such creations when his _brother_ was the inventor, after all. Stan, Tweek, and Becca were the only ones who knew of his habits; they were the only ones who _could_ know. After all, his artistic passions were supposed to be nothing more than a hobby from his time as a fateri, long since outgrown and left behind as his focus was supposed to hone in on his purpose and that alone. He'd learned early on that should his books be found, he'd need to lie. He'd need to insist he merely took a concept from one of his tomes to one of the tribe's _actual_ artists, claim that his keen mind was merely unable to rest until he could visualize it outside of text.

However, staring at the strange wooden bulb in front of him with the dirtied twine wrapped so precisely around the grooved middle, he knew that he'd not seen anything in his books such as this. He hummed to himself, dipping back into his ink and dragging his quill across the page, relishing in the soft scrape of bone to parchment and taking a cleansing breath. He'd needed this after dealing with Stan's inquiries. Himself and his secrets, that's all he needed, nothing but him and a page speaking a language that no other faterian or aikopia alike could translate.

Quick crosshatched shadowing made way as his wrist flickered about seemingly on its own, his mind lost in its observation as he detailed the rounded curve of the top of the toy. He'd snagged it from deep within the woods on his earlier excursions that day for his plants, just happening upon it lying hidden from the element in a thicket. As far as his unfamiliar eye could tell, it was in perfect condition after he had spent time cleaning it off, more than grateful to not have another mystery fragment of a treasure yet again. A part of him was more than glad this is had been what he'd found, so simple and yet so intriguing, wondering just what it was used for. Kyle glanced between his subject and interpretation, taking care to make note of the fact that it was indeed twine wound within it. An important detail, he was more than sure of that. He pursed his lips in thought, gently setting his quill off to the side as he completed his delicately scratched contouring, reaching in front of him and snaring the tiny device.

Both hands raised to cup it in his fingers, twisting it in wonder and gently snaring the end of the string to bring out in front of him. He narrowed his eyes at a small loop tied around the end, speculating at once what its purpose was. _'Maybe to get out of the groove easier,'_ he guessed. The wooden end dropped, the fairy flinching as it unraveled and rolled away as his fingers kept taut around the twine, blinking in confusion as what momentarily seemed to be an infinite amount of string unfurled before coming to a stop at the edge of a mulberry bush and the item collapsing down to its side. Narrowing his eyes, he tugged the strand, bringing the end back towards himself, grasping it once more to peer down into the groove, seeing the carved middle post holding the entire device together and letting out a soft 'huh'. He grabbed his quill again, rapidly making note of possibilities the humans could have for something like this. _'Maybe it's a weight,'_ he thought. _'Or a weapon.'_

His quandaries came to a halt as he heard rustling from beyond his patch, head shooting around and eyes widening, hand slowly dropping his quill and inching towards his resting bow off to his side. Kyle gulped, waiting anxiously until all worries dissipated at once with the appearance of an eager blonde head wearing a happy grin. "Hey! You're actually here!" Kenny greeted excitedly.

Kyle's tensed stance dropped and he gave a returning smile. "Of course," he answered, watching as Kenny cursed under his breath as he tried to break his way through the bushes concealing the redhead. He brushed fallen leaves off his tunic, plopping down onto the ground next to him and looking at his hand, giving a small smirk.

"Why do you have a yo-yo? You don't seem the type to do tricks."

He blinked. "Yo… yo?" he repeated. "What is it for?"

Ken shrugged, "It's a toy." Kyle looked between the item and him, narrowing his eyes in disbelief and he snorted, holding out his hand. "Here, lemme show ya." Kyle nodded eagerly, passing off the item and pivoting around to sit facing him, watching intensively as he wound the string within the groove once more. Kenny smirked, "Don't expect too much. I ain't played with one since I was pretty damn young, I lost mine when I was a kid." He moved up onto his knees, Kyle watching in befuddlement as he slipped the knotted ring over his index finger. His head followed along with the toy as it fell along the string, giving a harsh bounce as it reached the end of its twine, snapping back up and rewinding itself as it flew into Kenny's hand. Kyle continued his bewildered stare until he slowly broke into a smile, Kenny continuing to let the toy fall and rise time and again, amusedly watching the fairy's fascination.

" _Lanei_ ," he murmured, snatching up his pen and scratching out his guesses, writing down Kenny's process as he glanced between his book and the blonde's demonstration.

Kenny chuckled, "You guys seriously don't have yo-yo's? Whaddya do for fun when you're kids?"

Kyle looked up at him and cleared his throat, giving a small shrug. "We have a few toys that the fateri all share… but mostly we are learning to use our magic."

The blonde hummed, catching the yo-yo once again and twisting his lips. "Doesn't sound like a very good childhood. Sounds like all ya did was work."

The fairy sheepishly tucked stray curls behind his ear, "Well… magic is very important to us, even for fateri. So we must learn it young. We still played, just… mostly with… rocks…" he sank down embarrassedly.

Kenny laughed softly, letting out a sympathetic coo. "Aw man, that sucks. I'm sorry." Kyle shrugged again, scratching through his hair and glancing up as the yo-yo began to pick up motion yet again. Kenny's wrist flicked upwards, the toy flying out in front of him to ricochet back into his palm. "Apparently ya don't forget once ya put it down," he commented, smirking at Kyle falling right back into his mesmerized stare. "I was better than all my friends. Well. 'Cept Token. Man, he could spin these around for hours without even lookin', the bastard."

"Bastard?" he echoed.

"Uh…" he squinted, trying to think of a way to rephrase it. "It… it's a… mean thing to call someone. But he's my bud, so ya know… I don't really mean it to be… _mean_."

Kyle nodded with a grin, "Myself and my naichi are the same way."

"Naichi?" he took his turn to repeat, glancing down and missing as the yo-yo came flying back, nailing him in the forehead. He yelped and fell back onto his ass, bringing up both hands to press over the impact point and groaning in pain.

Kyle's face fell, moving his book off his lap and scrambling closer towards the clumsy man. He leaned around in front of him, watching Kenny hissing through his teeth and squirming as he waited for the pain to calm down. "Are you all right?!" he asked worriedly. Kenny gave a brisk nod, dropping the toy off his finger and wincing at the redhead's distraught face.

"I'm fine, I'm just stupid," he assured him with a snort, the sharp bite of the hit finally fading into a throb, leaving one hand up to rub against the wound. "Don't look away from 'em," he advised. "They'll get the better of ya and kill ya."

"Bastards," he smirked, getting a laugh out of the blonde and an agreeing nod.

Kenny used his free hand to roll in front of him, "So anyway. Naichi is?"

"My soul brother." Kenny cocked his brow and he chuckled awkwardly. "Um, my closest friend. We have been since we were tiny."

He nodded, "So, your best friend." Kyle shrugged, opting to just agree with him. He would know the terminology much better than he would, anyway. "Well, that's good, Man. My best friend is a sack of shit."

"Is… is that another well-meaning mean phrase?" he squinted.

Kenny rolled his eyes and shook his head. "No. He's _literally_ a sack of shit, like, an _actual_ bastard. I'm just kind of stuck with him. His name is Cartman and lemme tell ya, Kyle, you'd hate him and he'd hate you."

The redhead pouted, "What? I have not even met him. How can you know this already?"

"Because you're smart and because he hates everyone that's different," he said dryly. "Just trust me, he's awful."

Kyle backed up a bit confusedly and cleared his throat, "Then um… why do you continue to be his friend?"

He shrugged, "At this point it's too late to back out. 'Sides, he sells me my fabrics, so if I piss him off too much he'll overcharge me more than he already does."

"Fab… rics?" he repeated slowly, both of them settling to sit staring at one another.

Kenny smiled and nodded, reaching forward and lightly gripping the front of Kyle's vibrant tunic, shaking it a tad. "Fabric," he confirmed. "I make clothes as my job."

His eyes brightened, smiling back. "So that is why you had your… _needles_?" he tried, beaming as Kenny nodded affirmatively. "So… you are an artist of your people then?" he queried.

"Uhhhh…" he dropped his hand from his forehead, tilting it a bit in front of him. "Yes n' no. Depends on who you ask I guess. I don't think so, I think artists are more like… well…" his eyes drifted down to the open book beside Kyle's legs, tilting his head and smirking. "Like you," he said with a small laugh, reaching over and picking up the journal before Kyle could grab it back. The blonde smiled, staring at the detailed sketch in front of him, eyes swimming with the swirling calligraphy of Kyle's language littering around the subject. "Wow, you draw better than some of our actual artists, Kyle."

Kyle blushed, reaching forward and snatching his book back, snapping it shut and pulling it against his chest. "I… I only do so I remember what it is I have seen," he mumbled, staring at the dirt in embarrassment.

Kenny quirked his brow and let out a quiet chuckle, "Dude, I mean it. It's really good! Why are you so shy over it?"

Green eyes raised to meet his gaze, Ken cocking his head at the sadness lingering within algae pools. "I am not supposed to be able to do much else but what I have been assigned," he explained quietly. "I have to keep these hidden from my people or they may tell the kiantri."

"That's your leader, right?" he questioned, getting a small nod and twisting his lips. "Why would that be so bad? He'd get jealous because he can't even draw a straight line?"

"He may become angry… I am to do as he said at my birth. Stepping from his path is not wise," his shoulders sank, fingers tracing over his book with soft scrapes from his nails.

Kenny scooted a bit closer towards him, tilting his head down to catch his downward gaze. "What are you supposed to do?"

Kyle let out a long breath and gave a half-assed shrug. "I spent much of last night and today yelling about it… I-I…

"Don't wanna talk about it?" he guessed, getting a guilty nod and shrugging back at him. "Dude, you don't have to say anything you don't wanna. I ain't here t' make you do anything." Kyle gave him a small, grateful smile and he grinned back. "Subject change," he declared, looking up in thought. "Honestly probably shoulda asked ya this before anything else," he snorted. "How old are you?" Kyle cocked his head and he hummed in thought. "Um… how many years have you been alive?"

The redhead blinked, setting down his book beside him and thinking. The stories he'd found didn't exactly teach him the humans' numbering system, the furthest he knew was up to goddamn _one_ from an offhand line in a story he'd come across. "Um… _Brel alei ko palt_ ," he said awkwardly, getting a bewildered blink from the human and biting his lip. He scrunched his nose in thought before raising his hands. Slowly he held up two fingers, closing and reopening to ten, before repeating the motion to open with four.

Kenny's eyes lightened in realization, "Twenty-four?" he guessed. Kyle shrugged, still looking beyond lost and Ken let out a soft laugh. "Okay, okay," he smirked. He held up his hands between them, "This many is ten," he informed him, Kyle making quick work to grab his notebook and open to a fresh page, dipping into his ink and writing as he talked.

" _Ten_ ," he repeated. "Alei."

"Okay, alei," he grinned, wishing he'd brought his own damn notebook at this rate. He held up two fingers, "This is two."

"Brel. Two."

"Two tens," he demonstrated, "is twenty."

Kyle blinked. "H-how?" he squinted. "Where does that come from?"

Kenny shrugged, "Dude, I don't know. I just learned it, I didn't invent it." He leaned over and glanced at Kyle's notes, shaking his head. "Okay, the two is spelled t- _w-_ o, not two o's. Then twenty starts with the t-w." The redhead nodded slowly, making his adjustments and blushing at making such a mistake. Kenny caught the hue of his cheeks and laughed, "Don't be embarrassed, Man. Everyone fucks that up the first few times. It's a dumb word." Kyle chuckled, looking back at him as he sat back in front of him, holding up his fingers yet again. "This is four," he explained.

"Palt," he replied before licking over his lips. "Um… how do you-"

"F-o-u-r," he finished, getting another grateful smile as he scribbled down his answer.

Kyle looked up as he finished and nodded. "Then yes. I am twenty-four. Though in a few weeks I will not be."

The blonde smirked, "Well then you'll catch up to me, I'm twenty-five," he held up a hand, Kyle making a hasty mark. "Well, now you gotta tell me in your language, it's the pattern, Man."

He grinned back, "Brel alei ko _ton'na_."

Ken tongued over his lips. "Brel alei ke ton'na?"

He chuckled, " _Ko_ ton'na. But yes." Kenny beamed, moving over to sit beside him and look down at his notes, leaning his chin into his palm.

"I'll make you a list of numbers for next time," he promised.

Kyle blushed lightly, "You do not need to do that."

Ken waved him off with a wink, "Nah, happy to. All I do is sew, eat, and sleep. It'll be nice to have somethin' besides hemmin' pants to focus on, ya know?" Kyle couldn't fully pick up all his words, but nodded nonetheless. "Just gotta keep it outta sight of my brother and sister, but if I work on it once they fall asleep it won't be so bad."

"You have a brother _and_ a sister?" he questioned.

He nodded. "Yep. Kevin is older than me, he's twenty-eight," he demonstrated on his fingers, Kyle nodding along as he wrote. "Karen is my little sister, she's twenty-two. Too old in my opinion. She's always gonna be a little kid to me," he murmured sadly, looking off towards the bushes and heaving a deep sigh. Saying his baby sister was in her _twenties_ just didn't sit right with him, still seeing her as that little six-year-old fumbling around recklessly swinging her firefly jar around and laughing into the night.

Kyle's lips turned up slightly at the contentedness falling upon his face, "Are you and she close?"

"Super close," he looked down at him with a fond smile. "Always have been. Kev, I love him, but he and I just didn't always get along, ya know? But it's the three of us against our parents. Well… at least my dad," he corrected, running his fingers up through his hair, content smile dripping off his face. He wondered just what the drunkard would say if he knew what Ken was up to, if he'd claim it as proof that he was in cahoots with his 'sacrificial cult' theory and would drag him off to the nalian to 'set him straight'. Ken glanced down to see Kyle watching him worriedly, giving him a small, one-shouldered shrug, "Mom just kind of… doesn't know which side to go with."

The fairy nodded sympathetically. "At least your brother and sister are on your side. Myself and my _erichi_ do _nothing_ but argue," he scoffed.

He cocked his brow, "And erichi is…?"

Kyle blushed, "I am sorry. My little brother. His name is Ikkerian, but we call him Ike. He is uh…" he rolled his eyes, holding up his fingers once again as Kenny watched.

"Eighteen," he answered with a smirk.

"Eighteen," he repeated, beginning to write it down and pausing, looking at Kenny in confusion. Ken snorted, gripping his quill and briskly writing down the spelling for him, Kyle cocking his head at the thick, unleveled penmanship of the man. He hummed in thanks as he was given back his pen, meeting Kenny's expectant gaze and shrugging, "Alei ko _hem_." Kenny nodded in understanding and he proceeded on, making the change in spelling needed for his notes of twenty-eight. "We and my parents are never all on the same side. Though, myself, Ike, and my father are very careful around my mother. She is… difficult," he said carefully.

Ken nodded with a sad smile, "I know that feeling. That's so weird, though. I can't imagine not lovin' Kare like I do."

He shrugged, "You are not so… _crowded_ as we are. Maybe that is the reason it is easier for you."

Kenny looked up, letting the notion settle on him in consideration and he shrugged. "Well, to an extent we're not. We do all work in my store together, though, so we don't have much time apart."

Kyle narrowed his eyes, "Together? You were all given the same _nederi_?"

"Nederi?" he repeated, "Is that what you call jobs?" Kyle shied down a bit, clearing his throat.

"Oh. Um, not exactly. I… How do humans… decide on what job they are to do?"

He raised his brow, "Well… you take what you can get. I just lucked out. The guy who trained me just needed someone _to_ train. So I stepped in and when he died, he gave me the store. So I brought in the family to help me work."

Kyle nodded slowly, allowing such a strange concept to linger between them, settle in on his baffled mind. "So… you are not… told from birth what you will do?"

Kenny shook his head. "Nah. Sometimes you get _super_ lucky and you can make your hobby into your job. But most of the time you just go around town askin' who needs a hand and you just settle on in wherever you're needed." He paused, looking as Kyle's stance seemed to sink even more, the fairy placing his book back to his side and folding his knees up, hugging around them as green eyes dropped sadly towards the forest floor. Ken bit his lip, the question Kyle had posed raising too many queries of his own. "What does the rest of your family do exactly? If you don't mind my asking," he added gently.

Kyle blushed, "Well… My brother is an inventor. My father is part of our tribe's council. And my mother keeps our home. We do not see each other until our daily work is done, as most families do not."

He shrugged, reminding himself staunchly that Kyle wasn't willing to get into his own job and to not press the issue. "That happens. My family is kind of an exception, a lot of 'em around my village all work in different places, too. Like I said, my job was pure luck."

"I believe there must be more than that," he said softly. "Not just anyone can make clothing."

Ken smirked, elbowing him lightly. "Stop flattering me. It's _really_ not that hard. Just gotta be good with your hands," he wriggled his fingers teasingly.

"You do not give yourself enough credit," he said dryly. "Better to have an actual talent as opposed to… just knowing how to read," his shoulders sank again, chin pressing down onto his knees and letting out a long breath. "I would much prefer to be benefitting my people with _things_ , not just _ideas_."

Kenny chewed lightly on the inside of his cheek, moving to stretch his legs out and prop himself back on his hands, watching the redhead closely. "Like your brother?"

Kyle shook his head. "No, he is allowed to do both. Ike not only thinks, he is trained to create as well. He and the many others like himself…" he sighed, uncurling and moving to the side of his legs, looking up into the sky dripping into pastel hues and biting his lip. "There is only myself and one other in my nederi… and he is content with who we are."

He cleared his throat and shifted a bit, watching him carefully and trying to find the best way to approach the subject without finding himself being a jackass to both species he'd interacted with up to this point. "How come you ain't?"

"Because I do not like being told my purpose is to merely read and speak of what I read," he said grimly. He glanced over towards Kenny's sympathetic gaze and sighed, "I am a scholar," he finally elaborated. "I am to… spend my time learning how to benefit my people. But, I am not to apply what I learn, only pass it on to one who is allowed to do so."

Blue eyes narrowed, lengthy blonde lashes fluttering in confusion at such a concept. "How does _that_ work?"

He shrugged, "Well, for example, I 'work' for my friends, Tweek and Becca," he explained. "Tweek makes our potions, and Becca grows the plants we need. They need help uh…" he rolled his hand in front of him as he struggled for the term. "Putting them… i-into place?" he winced.

"Like… cataloguing?" he guessed. Kyle blinked and he clicked his tongue. "Like, with my fabrics, I _catalogue_ all of 'em by color and what type of material and stuff. I'll write it down and that's how we sort my stuff."

His lips formed into a small 'oh' before he nodded briskly. "Then yes, that. And no one better to help them than someone who is willing to come out here," he gestured around before his arms curled back towards himself and he slumped again. "But, just because _I_ am the one _cataloguing_ and I am allowed to _assist_ my friends… I am not allowed to use their methods myself. Not in view of any of my people at least."

Kenny narrowed his eyes, "Or what?"

"Or I am ignoring the kiantri's chosen nederi for me," he shrugged. "I do not know what would happen, as faterian so rarely stray from his word. But I have been told time and again by my parents that I would be punished somehow, and I am not willing to find what that means. So I do everything I can out here, to lessen my chance of being caught and brought to him."

Slowly, Ken pivoted to face him directly, folding his legs atop one another and leaning his chin down into his palm, completely entranced by the life Kyle was apparently handed, not the one he'd forged. The concept was beyond baffling, thinking of that runaway chicken that had been taken back to its coop to do nothing but lay eggs until its time was up. "How does the kiantri choose what you do?" he queried.

Kyle cleared his throat, turning to return the attentive gaze and biting his lip. "He is there for all births," he said softly. "He will most often decide within a few… you call them months, yes?" he looked for Kenny's confirmatory nod before pressing on, "Within that time, he will decide what you are to be, what nederi you are to follow. It depends on what you do in your first season."

"And… you did what?" he winced.

He sighed, scratching behind his ear, "I was decided the moment I was born," he muttered. "I came into the world with open eyes and not crying, so he decided that meant my nederi was to quietly observe and to learn. I am one of the few whose was chosen so immediately. He marked me, assured my _ritavi_ of my health and her own, and that was it."

"Marked you?" he cocked his brow. Kyle nodded, reaching up behind his neck and undoing the knot resting at the nape, drawing the front of his tunic down. Kenny blinked at a thick, green tattoo etched onto his chest, slightly off-center towards the left overlying Kyle's heart. The blond tilted his head, eyes sweeping down two hooked shapes facing opposite one another, a stark line separating the two. A pair of alternating curving lines lingered above through the barrier and another striking through the middle of the shapes, floating waved figures hovering above the top mark's ends. "What… what is that?"

Kyle shrugged, "I do not know. No one knows what the kiantri marks us with. We believe it may be of a sacred text of _Belsin_ , left for only the kiantri's eyes to know."

Kenny nodded slowly as Kyle sighed at his mark before moving to retie his tunic. "What's a Belsin?"

"He is the brother of Tav'nokana's lover. All kiantris are said to be from Him," he shrugged, finishing tying off his clothing and brushing his hair back, watching the bewilderment riding over Kenny's face with gusto. "Tav'nokana is who made all things," he continued on awkwardly.

His eyes sparked, "Ohhh they're your Tavin."

"Our what?"

"Tavin is who _we_ think made everything," he smirked. "He's our big guy in the sky watchin' us be naughty little kiddos."

"He," Kyle repeated, blinking rapidly. "You believe it was a… He. Not… a woman. When they create life even in a mortal form."

Kenny shrugged, "Dude, I don't know. I go to andell once a week and listen to stories and whatever but it's not a big part of my life." Kyle's face contorted further and he cleared his throat embarrassedly. "Um, what?"

"I am just… confused," he said slowly. "You are so curious as to me and who I am, but not your… _Tavin_ ," he drawled, cringing and feeling Tav'nokana looking down on him, warning him to tread very carefully with how he phrased himself.

"Well… you're right in front of me," he said point blank. "I _know_ you're here. And Tavin don't answer back when I ask Him shit, but you do. And I know more about Him than I can ever really use, but I barely know anything about you."

He blushed, smiling meekly, "I have told you much today. Probably too much. I told you my ways are not very interesting."

Kenny snorted, shaking his head a bit, blonde hair flopping with the dramatic movement. "Now _you're_ the one not giving yourself much credit, Kyle. I tell people when they're borin' me, trust me. I don't think a damn thing you could tell me would be boring."

Kyle laughed softly and shook his head back, eyes dropping back shyly towards the ground. "Trust _me_ , I will find a way to make you hate seeing me. My naichi tells me I talk far too much."

"Nahh," he winked, "Don't listen t' him. Listen t' me, I'm _obviously_ much more reliable."

"You would be surprised how true that is," he shrugged. "Stan does not get why I do what I do… But, then again, none of my people would," he said with a melancholy smile.

He gave him a return shrug, "Well, maybe they don't. And I really don't either, but I'm sure not gonna rat you out for doin' what you do. If it makes you happy lookin' up our dumb human stuff, then you should just keep on goin' with it. If you don't have much else choice in shit, hold on to the few you _do_ make, ya know?"

Kyle smirked, looking up at him bashfully, "I have been since I was a fateri. I do not plan on stopping unless forced to do so. And even then… the kiantri cannot _always_ be watching me."

"That's the spirit," he winked again, flinching at a cool drop hitting his head and looking up, seeing periwinkle clouds beginning to quickly move over towards the darkness stretching up into the far West. "Shit," he sighed irritably. "It rained like, most of the day. It can stop anytime now," he pouted.

"Did you also see the rainbow?" Kyle straightened up, smiling at him.

Kenny glanced down and nodded with a smile, "Me and Kare snuck out and watched it for a little while when her thread was setting to dry. It was pretty neat…" he paused, seeing the jealousy and the wonder painting itself onto Kyle's profile and he grinned. "Was that your first one?"

Kyle nodded excitedly, "I did not think they were real. But… there it was," he said dreamily, looking up into the sky and humming under his breath. "It was the most wonderful thing I have ever seen. More than I could imagine from stories."

Ken watched him, lips curling up wider as Kyle's depressive state seemed to melt away at the memory. He gnawed on his lip a bit, "You've never seen anything close to it?"

He shook his head, "No. We can light pieces of nimikal'e…" he paused, correcting himself, " _glass._ And we will put colors within them, but it does not… stretch," he held his arms up a bit against the sky, mental picture plastering across his mind before he as well gave a bit of a flinch, a droplet of rain splashing onto his nose.

The blonde got to his feet, snatching Kyle's notebook and hiding it in his shirt as the water began to patter down around them. "C'mon, we should both get home," he said, sadness lingering in his tone. Kyle nodded, recorking his inkwell and hopping up onto his feet. He grabbed his satchel from the ground, taking his book from Kenny with a grateful smile as he began to pack up his belongings. He bent down and grasped the yo-yo, looking between the item and the blonde and holding it out towards him.

"Would you like this?" he asked. "Since you lost yours?"

He chuckled quietly, "Kyle, if you took that from someone-"

He pouted, "I did not. I found it far into the trees," he gestured backwards. "Very far from here while finding a flower. Please, have it," he insisted.

Kenny smiled and nodded, taking the toy from his hand and tossing it a bit, "Thank you."

He nodded, "Thank you. For not getting angry at me."

He cocked his brow, "Why would I have gotten angry at you?"

Kyle tongued over his lips, reaching down and snagging his bow and quiver, staring at them for a moment. "I am often yelled at for not wanting to tell someone something right away. Thank you for not… forcing me. And for waiting for me to get there," he said slowly.

Ken frowned sympathetically, "Look, I've been in that situation, too. Especially with my dad. I know how shit it is for someone to push you when you're not there yet. You don't have to tell me jackshit that you don't want to, all right? Just like I hope you're cool if I'm quiet about something. Given, you'd be hard-pressed to _find_ something I'll keep my fat mouth shut on, but it could happen," he grinned dopily. "Go home and sleep it off, Dude. You look exhausted."

He smiled softly, "I am. It has been a long day. Tomorrow?"

Kenny nodded eagerly. "Same time. I'll have somethin' for ya, and your numbers," he winked. Kyle cocked his head and he wagged his finger in front of him. "Nope, you gotta wait. Don't worry. I think you'll like it," he promised.

"You do not have to-"

"I know," he cut him off, leaning down towards his face a bit and smirking. "But I want to. So I'll see ya then."

Kyle let out a small huff of a laugh and nodded, "See you then," he agreed, watching Kenny struggle to get out of the mulberries and walk off, the blonde turning to wave goodbye a final time, Kyle returning the gesture as he faded into the trees back towards his village. The fairy smiled, looking up into the sky, face getting pelted with raindrops and he let out a relieved sigh, shedding the day and night prior and their irritating circumstance. His wings began to unfurl before he stopped himself, the refreshing droplets rolling down his face, soothing him down further with the foundation Kenny had laid out so kindly for him. His lips quirked as he held his satchel to his chest to protect it as much as he could manage, hopping over the bushes in the opposite direction of his counterpart.

New purpose seemed to rise within him, a reaffirmation from the human giving him _permission_ to continue exploring his heritage only strengthened his determination to do just that. With his sight set in the direction of home, he held fast to Kenny's words, wanting to understand the kind aikopia and his ways as much as he possibly could. So, in true humanistic fashion, the fairy set off in the direction of the mountains, walking home leisurely as the rain continued to fall.


	12. The Dirt Dweller and the Vagrant

The scent of the toli’fale had always been one that piqued Kyle’s interest, and made each time he walked into what was called his home away from home a surreal experience. The stark stench of cloves and lemongrass tended to float about from the backroom apothecary, mingling strangely with the musty aroma of parchments passed down throughout the ages of the fater’talei. It was always a moment that made him recoil upon his first step as it did everyone else who crossed the threshold, regardless of how many times a day he’d wander in and out of its massive allowances.

Today was no different, his nose scrunching and fingers clenching around his satchel as he seeped through the wall of the massive collaboration of oak trees, hollowed and strung together through magic to make a monstrosity of foliage. His head turned cautiously, looking for others lingering about and catching a blonde head flittering around on an upper balcony. He grumbled under his breath, tip-toeing his way towards the back to have to avoid contact with the other. Grego’ri was _not_ one he cared to communicate with if he could escape it. Kyle held his bag firm against his hip to prevent it slamming against his leg, hurrying across the way as the other scoured about for his tomes.

His wings flittered to move him across the floor quicker towards a back wall, nearly slapping his hand against it in his haste and seeping through just as he heard a greeting coming from the upper floor. He made it into his destination and sighed in relief, scratching at his hair and seeing two pairs of hazel eyes watching him in surprise. A blonde he was _always_ fine with seeing broke into a smile, giving him a shaky wave. “Hey, Kyle.”

“Hey,” he greeted with a nod. “Sorry I didn’t like… knock.”

He waved him off. “Don’t worry about it, Man. Better you than a killer or somethin’, right?”

A small smirk crept up his lips. Tweek had always been like that. Always had a telltale twitch that racked through him in sporadic intervals. Wide hazelnut eyes seemed to be forever trapped in a state of shock and worry. But, Kyle thought, it suited him. Never witnessed anything more violent than Kyle losing his temper at someone or a fateri coming to him with a scraped knee, but somehow always managed to think there was trouble afoot just beyond his wall. Personally, Kyle blamed Stan for his tales of training. Though, he knew well enough that he definitely had _some_ part in the paranoia. His own stories of the outside world certainly didn’t aide Tweek in his breathing exercises.

But that was what was so wonderful about his position within their tribe. Getting to be the reclusive apothecary _more_ than suited his nervous friend’s needs. Not to mention, Kyle always had someone on hand for when he got too excitable outside their mountain and came to him with a sheepish grin and a large cut on his arm from not paying attention. Tweek didn’t judge his adventures, knowing that Kyle got what he needed for his potions and was never burdened by his requests. In fact, Kyle had come to _him_ asking if he could assist in foraging, so long as a mutual _secretive_ understanding was met. Kyle knew the prospect of Tweek hiding something weighed on him a bit, but that’s what this room was for. For him and his other assistant to discuss, get their feelings on the subject out in the open and relieve the tension that Kyle happened to bring about with his riveting tales.

Kyle stood from the wall, making way towards the two and placing his books on the table, looking at a curly headed brunette and giving her a smile. “Hey, Becca.”

She grinned back shakily, giving a nervous wave of her fingers and a faint blush riding on the edge of prominent cheekbones at his appearance. “H-hey. Did you… did you find it?”

He nodded, moving to dig in his satchel and clicking his tongue. “Not a whole lot. I think some aikopia might’ve raided the shrub.” She shook her head in disappointment and he smirked a bit at the expression. “Maybe they needed them, too,” he commented, pulling a long, polished box from its hold and setting it atop the table. His fingers delicately undid the twine wrapping he’d secured it with mere twenty minutes ago, moving the lid off and to the side to reveal branches of pastel green branches bursting with half-inch needles. Kyle hummed, reaching in and pulling out the eight full sprigs he’d managed to salvage from the shrub and handing them to a beaming Becca.

She took them from his hands with a gentle grace, trembling fingers dancing over the prickles of the needles and nibbling on her bottom lip. She glanced up at him shyly through a lock of stray hair and smiled. “Th-thank you, Kyle.”

“No problem,” he shrugged, plopping down in what the three of them had designated as his seat and snagging his book and quill from his bag, flipping to a fresh page and readying his ink. She smiled knowingly, laying one of the branches down on the table for him to study while she borrowed Tweek’s mortar, pulling off needles two at a time to let them fall into the sculpted clay bowl.

Kyle licked over his lips as he sat back, propping the book at an angle on the corner of the table, barely coating the end of his quill in ink to begin his sketching lines. “So. What’s this guy for?” Kyle asked as he worked, keeping his eyes flittering between his subject and parchment.

“It’s an _inialet_.” She shrugged. “We want to give some to the foragers to plant around the berry bushes, so the _lena’pae_ will leave them be.”

“Ah,” he nodded, sketching out a rough multitude of needles as she handed the bowl over to Tweek, settling down in her chair and starting to separate more spikes and buds into wooden containers. Kyle pursed his lips a bit in concentration as his wrist swooped across the page. “What about you?” he flickered his eyes up to his twitchy friend.

Tweek gulped as he started to crush the supply Becca handed him. “I-I’m trying to find something for the treagi to use. You know… so they smell more like outside and the… _y-ya know_ … don’t track them.”

“Aidarkeri?” Kyle said without the slightest hesitation, never deviating from his art. “Makes sense. Stan said he feels like at least one of them may be getting closer to their training grounds. They’re all a little on edge.”

The apothecary shivered, eyes darting about, as though unknown lurkers lingered within his walls. “Kyle, _shhhhh_.”

He paused, looking up at him and quirking his brow. “What? It’s not like it’s forbidden to _mention them_.”

Becca gnawed on her lip, glancing at him sympathetically. “I-I mean… no… but it’s not a g-good idea.”

“Oh, you two need to calm down,” he waved off their concern before re-dunking his quill. “You can’t discuss the solution without first addressing the problem,” he reminded them, making broader strokes along his page. “Speaking of problems, where’s your brother?” he glanced up at Becca for a moment.

“H-he’s out with Grego’ri looking for books on animals again.”

Kyle rolled his eyes, “Doesn’t he know _enough_ about animals?” he drawled. “Maybe he should redirect his focus onto something more _productive_.”

Tweek paused his work, blinking at him. “More productive than food?”

“We have lena’pae,” he reminded them. “Fuckin’ eat it every damn night. Plus, the berries are ripe for the season, I think we’re all covered food-wise.”

Becca smirked in the slightest, continuing her sorting and shaking her head. “You _hate_ lena’pae.”

“I don’t hate it, I’m just sick of it every night,” he rolled his eyes. “And let’s be real, Mark doesn’t research any animal _but_ them.”

She shrugged a bit, eyes falling back downward, overwhelmed by the prolonged eye contact between them. “Well… they’re the most abundant,” she mumbled.

Kyle sighed through his nose, looking down at his sketched branch and tucking curls behind his ear. Kyle couldn’t exactly insult Mark on his focus, he supposed. Considering how he himself hadn’t _budged_ from his own studies except in the chores he took on to avoid suspicion. But he figured that there was much more to learn in the species _he_ was researching than there was about fucking _deer_. But he supposed it didn’t really matter. Everyone was more than happy with Mark’s research, finding their most likely hiding places for the hunters to track them down and figuring out what foods to plant to lure them out. Their tribe was small, but they still all had to eat.

The ponds scattered throughout within the scope of their home didn’t provide nearly enough fish, the kiantri worried that destroying their population would upset nature’s balance, that _Mellicia_ would not look kindly upon them for decimating their livelihood in such a way. Only once a year, towards the tail end of the sweltering season, were they permitted to fish. For the _Nai’lan no talei,_ their time to thank the earth for its sustenance, when creatures of the soil were protected and revered for four days before life returned to its normal flow. Fateri were taught the gifts of nature, their parents and older siblings emphasizing to them time and again what was so important about it all, learning the proper way to pay respects to Leiata'nea and her worldly blessings.

Kyle despised the festival to an extent, the last few years being pulled up with the kiantri during his kana’fale services and given a bird one of the hunters had managed to trap alive and bring home. Kyle would have to stand beside him, shifting his weight and eyes darting about in embarrassment, with the winged creature perched on his hand and eating seeds from his palm. It would be perfectly content being held by him when before, it’d been squawking to be let back out into the fresh air. A demonstration of balance, the kiantri had told the congregation time and again. An embodiment of nature and faterianea meshing together, cooperating in quiet, calmed harmony.

Kyle would always catch Stan fighting to hold in his laughter from his seat, Ike usually nearby rolling his eyes as their parents beamed at him with such a boisterous pride. He hated being the spectacle, but it was to be expected, he supposed. In a way, it protected him. Kyle had a feeling that the kiantri did such demonstrations on purpose, his personal way of showing their tribe _“look, I know he’s a little odd and he worries all of you but he serves his purpose on the outside”._ Whether or not that was true, Kyle wasn’t entirely sure, but it was something to hold onto, and probably kept more hearsay about him from spreading around. At least… maybe temporarily.

It was at least long enough for him to avoid the nonstop lectures of his youth by the elderly faterian, always having to slip around their gatherings and zip out of the mountain in an attempt to avoid their gossiping ways. And, more importantly, the first time Tweek and Becca had paid witness to his ‘feat’, it’d been more than enough to convince them to let him in on their projects. They were the perfect excuse, getting him out into the open air but still benefitting his people as much as their way’s constraining lifestyle would allow. He couldn’t make the potions, and he couldn’t grow their home’s foliage. Technically, he wasn’t supposed to do anything but get their plants and take whatever notes they dictated. But neither of them were comfortable spouting off what Kyle should do, and they were more than happy to let him sketch and forge his own notes, answering whatever questions _he_ felt were necessary for the archives. Kyle had questioned how so few and undetailed notes existed upon his entrance into their world, the two of them only able to hypothesize that everything had been word-of-mouth from master and apprentice for so long they just never bothered to document their activities. They had the physical descriptions of their plants, colors and size alone. It was no _wonder_ the foragers had so often messed up their errands.

Kyle had found that system to be nothing short of ludicrous. After all, he claimed, what if they ran into a situation where their own apprentices weren’t born? That the next in line would wait a few generations before making themselves known to the tribe and no one would know just how to do their job without their guidance. The two of them had pondered over that before wholeheartedly agreeing, their nervous tendencies getting the better of them and launching them into a paranoia of being the last of their kind until Kyle spent hours convincing them that he only brought it up as a remote possibility. Either way, he’d managed to drag the both of them to the kiantri to present his idea, the two of them just nodding in agreement and hiding behind his back, overwhelmed being in the private presence of one so revered. Neither of them could quite comprehend just how it was Kyle spoke with such respect, but such a firm tone that read _“I’m doing this whether you permit me to or not. This meeting is merely a formality.”_

But, Kyle had proven to be quite an asset to both of their lines of work. Becca was more than grateful for his swiftness in gathering the plants and seeds she required, Tweek beyond glad that his potions finally had _notes_. The trepidation of screwing up his remedies was lessened substantially at long last. Besides, it was nice to hear Kyle’s stories of the outside world, despite how his vivid details could strike a bit of a gut-wrenching chord within their nerves. He’d promised them that so long as they kept his stories and his sketches to themselves, he’d keep their duties running at peak form as much as he could with the limited assistance he could offer. A more than fair agreement, they believed.

A short knock rapped on the outer wall, Kyle’s head whipping around and gripping his book, hiding his diagram from the view of the entranceway. Becca waited for him to nod before clearing her throat, calling out a simple, “Yes?”

They watched two forms seeping through the wall, Kyle letting out a long breath of relief at Mark and Grego’ri stepping into the room, allowing his book to fall back open and continuing his sketching, not giving them another ounce of his attention from his work. Grego’ri looked at him and shook his head a bit, plastering on a hint of a smug grin. “Well, _hello_ , Kylenove’ia.”

“Hi,” he muttered, rolling his eyes. He cringed a bit as he felt him walking behind him, staring at his sketch as he worked. Kyle’s face lit, embarrassment and a feeling of _judgment_ wafting over him.

“You know, you could always take those talents elsewhere,” Grego’ri commented, missing Kyle’s shoulders sinking and the slight glares from the others in the room. “They _must_ be of better use elsewhere.”

“For the _last time_ ,” Kyle said through his teeth, quill scratching away its multitude of needles, “we don’t _do that_.”

He scoffed, putting a stack of books on the table beside of him and shaking out his hands of their indentations from the hardened covers. “Which is a waste. Why not utilize what you can do?”

Kyle sighed, shaking his head a bit as he continued to draw. Considering his and Grego’ri’s philosophies were so similar, he figured that maybe he should get along with him a tad better than he did. But then again, a pompous attitude was not something that set well on Kyle, and a proclamation that his methods were superior to his tribe’s way of life made him defensive. Agreeing or not, he didn’t have to take such insults, Grego’ri hadn’t _earned them_. He hadn’t grown up here, hadn’t been bathed in the ways of the fater’talei. No, he’d come in only two seasons prior, a rogue fairy from a tribe of travelers. He’d been sent to learn of the ways of the _ilanti’nal taleinar_ , the _dirt dwellers_ as they were so insultingly referred to as by the outsider. Kyle both envied and _loathed_ him. He was a faterian free to come and go as he pleased. If he wanted to leave and never come back, he was more than welcome to, in fact encouraged by their secretive populous. But, Kyle couldn’t help but wonder how he would be were _he_ in Grego’ri’s position. He had to assume he’d at least fucking _respect_ the culture of the tribes he finagled into, not consistently question their ways and claim his own to be so much more ‘practical’.

But, what did he know? Perhaps to another tribe, he’d be _just_ as arrogant and never even know it. He gnawed on his lip a bit, wondering if he came off as too judgmental of Kenny the day prior. He’d questioned his _religion_ of all things after all… Kyle’s heart sank. Well, shit. Maybe he was more like the outsider than he thought. Kenny hadn’t _seemed_ insulted by his question, but Kyle could certainly put Grego’ri right in his own place, hearing that _smug_ , _arrogant_ tone boasting that his way was the only correct way. His quill drooped in his fingers, shoulders sinking. He’d have to be sure to apologize for his behavior. He didn’t need someone like Kenny getting the impression that they were _all_ like that.

He glanced over at Mark sliding into a seat beside his sister, eyes locked down on his tome and barely muttering more than a ‘hello’ to the room. Kyle shook his head. The two of them were the only ones trapped in their nederi, and Mark was _more_ than content with doing nothing but reading and speaking to others of his findings. Kyle just couldn’t grasp the concept, how he could be so all right with merely _reading_ about the lena’pae, and not going to see one alive for himself. Kyle had tried on multiple occasions to get him to accompany him outside, to feed a lena’pae from his palm, to watch them graze in a meadow or drink from a creek. But no. No, he was just fine with going off of Kyle’s stories and whatever information he found within the toli’fale.

“Mar’kena and I found the tomes you were searching for, Kylenove’ia,” Grego’ri claimed, sliding the top half of his stack towards him.

Kyle blinked, placing down his sketchbook and gripping the four large books from him, turning their worn covers to look at the faded, painted titles along the spines. “I never… told you what books I was looking for,” he said, eyes casting a skeptic side-winding gaze and heart pounding erratically.

“No, but Mar’kena remembered you had written down what you were looking for and he saw you scouring about a few weeks ago before you got called away.” He plopped down into the seat beside him, leaning back and crossing his legs, taupe wings fluttering behind him. “So we found your notes out there, figured out what your little code words meant, and found what you needed.” Kyle gulped. Well. They weren’t _wrong_ about what he’d been looking for… but he sure as fuck didn’t want anyone to _know_ that these were the books he was taking from the toli’fale. It could spell absolute _disaster_ for him.

“H-how did you figure out my notes?” he narrowed his eyes a bit.

Grego’ri smirked, giving him a simple shrug. “Not too many tomes out there with that combination of lettering for their titles. If you want to keep it secret, perhaps you should do something _other_ than mere abbreviations.”

Kyle straightened up, scowl forming faster than he could keep up with. “Or maybe, just _maybe_ , you should stay out of _my_ notes!”

“I told you he’d be upset,” Mark commented, not taking his eyes from his text. “I told him not to, Kyle.”

He turned his attention back to the boisterous man beside of him. “Next time, listen to someone who _lives here_ instead of snoopin’ around,” he snarled.

Grego’ri blinked. “Kyleno-“

“Kyle,” he cut him off with a bite. “You’re not my ritavi. Knock it off.”

He leaned his head back, sighing dramatically. “Fine. _Kyle_ ,” he drawled. “I truly believed you would _appreciate_ me going out of my way to assist you.”

“I didn’t _need_ your assistance; I just ran out of time before I had to go do something and I’ve been catching up on other work. I think I know my way around the toli’fale better than _you_.”

He smiled, “Are you sure about that? I mean, I even sleep here. You seem to only come in when the mood strikes.”

Tweek and Becca looked at each other with jaws hanging agape at his brashness, watching as fury steadily stacked onto Kyle’s infamously short temper. “K-Kyle?” Becca stood up from her seat, timidly reaching across the table and putting a hand on his tremoring shoulder. “Kyle, just… just ignore him.”

Grego’ri looked at her, brow cocked high. “Ignore what? Perhaps if he spent more time here, since he’s so _adamant_ on his duties or whatever he calls them, he’d already be onto _this_ project,” he picked up one of the tomes and twisted it a bit in his hand, deep, dark eyes sweeping back to Kyle’s gritting teeth. “Given… you reading about _this_ subject matter isn’t the brightest of notions for an _ilanti’nal taleinar_ , is it?”

Kyle’s eyes lit with rage at the term, fist flying before he could stop it and slamming against Grego’ri’s eye, sending him falling back in his chair with a shocked yelp and sprawling onto the floor. Kyle got to his feet, throbbing fist shaking from beside him and breaths seeping through gnashed teeth. His wings snapped behind him, adrenaline readying them for a quick maneuver should he need it. “Fucking call us that _again_ , you piece of shit! See where it fucking gets you!” he shouted, the other three watching him in horror, Tweek drawing back his fragile glass bottles in a quickened panic out of the possible war path.

Grego’ri stumbled back onto his feet, rubbing at his eye and wincing before glancing up to sneer at his shorter opponent. “Well. Your temper _certainly_ fits your upbringing.”

“Pretty rich coming from a fucking filthy vagrant,” he sneered. “Why don’t you go home- _oh wait_ ,” he drawled. “You don’t _have one_.”

He reached down, grabbing Kyle’s fallen tome and passing it from hand to hand, clicking his tongue in the slightest. “At least my people respect me,” he said, voice going cold. “I was sent here because I can so easily figure out other tribes’ ways and learn. And my people love that about me. What about _you,_ Kylenove’ia?” he elongated his name, voice dripping with foul intent and watching him shake. “You know, you’re the height of rumors out in your little village,” he smirked. “But they’re not saying _nice_ things.” He turned to the observers, still wide-eyed and silent at the war taking place in the cramped room. “Remind me, just what _is it_ that they call him?” he prodded.

“Grego’ri, s-stop,” Tweek tried to deepen his voice, failing and ending in an awkward, nervous squeak.

“Oh _right_ ,” he scoffed. “Ky _lenavi_. Right?”

Kyle’s eyes fell, upper lip twitching, trying to form itself into a full-on snarl. Years of that nickname had followed him around, stuck on him since he was sixteen, when he’d hit one of the treagi for insulting his brother. It’d spread throughout the village, the entire tribe seeming to come to a consensus that it was the best thing to call him. He’d attacked a soldier, one of their _saviors_ , after all. He was nothing but a vengeful _fire_ , he was a danger that would scorch before he would heal. They’d dubbed him as such because he was unpredictable. Because he was wild. Because they believed he would _burn their village to the ground_ if they didn’t get him under control.

The day the moniker had sprung was the day the kiantri took a special interest in him, the day he’d brought him to the kana’fale for his first private discussion of his behavior. That was the first time he’d been told the story of Tetima, how the kiantri worried for him that he held too much of Her cocky, surefire nature. That it would be his downfall. It was the first time he’d been told he needed to learn to control himself, get Her spirit pushed down and make room for another to take stronger hold over him. He’d been sent home with the lessons of _Kilpae_ , told to adhere more to Her ways, in the manner that faterianea were _supposed_ to do. Her twin was meant to only be used in situations where it _called_ for bravery and stubbornness; She wasn’t supposed to be who one leaned on for the majority of their lifetime. Kyle had been beyond confused, thought that _any_ embodiment was seen as prosperous.

How very sorely mistaken he apparently had been.

“Grego’ri, now that’s enough,” Mark spoke up, giving Kyle a pitiable look before shaking his head at his associate. The three watching the show were some of the few who despised that nickname almost as much as Kyle did, knowing that it was beyond ridiculous. Well, from their limited understanding of what he did with his studies, they felt as such.

Kyle could definitely relate the sobriquet to key points of his hidden work, though.

Grego’ri watched as Kyle reached forward, snatching his tome from his hand and beginning to repack his bag in silence, crossing his arms and tutting his tongue. “You actually believe what you’re doing is beneficial. Don’t you?”

“More beneficial than invading others’ culture and insulting them,” he muttered.

Becca’s brow furrowed. “Of _course_ what h-he’s doing is beneficial! T-Tweek and I would be _seasons_ behind without him!”

“Not the studies I was referring to,” Grego’ri murmured, watching Kyle with caution as his spine stiffened, pausing with another book halfway to his satchel. Green eyes flickered up in warning, another smirk crawling onto Grego’ri’s lips. “Even Tetima would be ashamed of what you’re doing.”

Kyle growled, dashing forward with a quick snap of his wings, rearing back his book wielding hand and smacking him in the side of the head with it before he could raise his arm to defend himself. Kyle watched him stumbling back with a pained groan, chest heaving and entire body trembling. “Fuck _off_!” he screamed, the others flinching from the volume, moving in closer towards one another as Grego’ri found his bearings. He scowled, finally hitting the edge of his smarmy patience as he made way for him, Kyle planting himself into his stance and waiting, ready to pounce.

Grego’ri yipped as the back of his tunic was grabbed and he was ripped back, looking up to find Stan glaring at him. “Knock it off. _Both_ of you,” he said, voice booming with a rare authority.

Kyle slackened, knuckles going white around his book, “He fucking started it!”

“He _always_ starts it,” he rolled his eyes, shoving Grego’ri aside and shaking his head at his naichi. “Back off, you homeless piece of shit,” he sneered before looking back at Kyle’s shaking form and sighing. He walked over towards him and grabbed his bag, looking for any of Kyle’s other belongings before snaring his wrist and leading him out to seep through the wall, to get that nice thick separation between him and the source of his anxiety. He led him towards the middle of the toli’fale, Kyle’s head hanging in shame as he brought them to a stop far out of earshot of the apothecary and at last released his wrist. Kyle brought it back towards himself before taking his bag from Stan’s hold, still refusing to meet his gaze.

“Kyle,” Stan flicked his forehead. “Dude. Stop getting into fights with him.”

“He started it,” he repeated, holding his book protectively against his chest, fingertips drumming along the cover.

He nodded, “I know. He’s a shithead. Hopefully he’ll be gone soon. But you _can’t_ keep fighting him, Dude. He’s gonna fucking say something and who _knows_ what other kind of rumors’ll start about you!”

His shoulders dropped, eyes finally raising to meet Stan’s and teeth grinding against his lip. “Does it really matter at this point?” he ventured. “What else can they say about me? Even _he_ hears all that shit, and he’s an outsider no one wants to talk to…” he trailed off with a heavy sigh. “I don’t know why he gets me so fucking angry.”

“Because you don’t like arrogant assholes,” he shrugged. “Nothing wrong with that. What _is_ wrong is you punching him every time he gives you an opening.”

“Not like he doesn’t deserve it,” he muttered.

“I’m not arguing that,” Stan held up his hands a bit. “If it weren’t for my stupid oath, I probably would’ve decked him by now, too… but, people expect that crap from me. Not from you.”

Kyle rolled his eyes, “Yes. I fucking know. ‘ _I’m a man of the paper, not one of war’_ ,” he mocked before slinking again.  “I just don’t like being questioned on my intentions.”

“I know,” Stan smiled a bit crookedly, patting his shoulder. He wasn’t very fond of people questioning Kyle either, knowing his best friend well enough to know that something detrimental was never his main goal. There was no anarchist mission here, only curiosity. Nothing damaging about that.

Kyle tucked hair behind his ear, finally straightening up a bit and clearing his throat. “So. Why’re you here?”

“You asshole, I knew you’d forget,” he rolled his eyes with a smirk. “You promised to help me study.”

“Right, right,” he nodded, shoving his tome down into his bag, careful to not let Stan see the words scribed on the cover. “Sorry. He kind of threw me off.”

Stan nodded back, cocking his head at his full bag. “So whatcha readin’?” he asked.

Kyle paused, gulping and looking up at his friend, breath hitching as he fought for the right thing to say. Looking at his _best friend_ who was caught between returning the sentiment of brothers before anything else and staying rooted in his duty. At the man who was supposed to keep Kyle’s secret project _away_ from anyone outside the treagi. Who was supposed to bring them to the kiantri _immediately_ should word of their involvement become known. Who _didn’t know what Kyle was doing._ “Um just… more… plant stuff,” he smiled awkwardly.

Stan very slowly cocked his brow at the unusual tone. “Plant stuff?”

“Stupid notes on ya know… flowers. Mushrooms. Trees,” he shrugged. “Boring boring stuff. Nothing special.”

He looked between the bag and him again, skepticism ringing through his stare at Kyle shifting his weight and cheeks turning hues. “Why are you acting so weird if it’s just… _plant stuff_?” He paused in realization, smirking and leaning down towards him, dropping his voice into a murmur. “More aikopia shit, isn’t it?” he teased, knowing Kyle wouldn’t want any passerby to hear such scandal.

Kyle coughed out a chuckle, that blush growing brighter and his chest twisting more violently, wrenching hard enough to make him nauseated as he forced himself to meet his decibel level and keep his voice steadied out. “Y-yeah. Ya got me. Aikopia stuff day and night for me, you know how I am.”

“I do,” he snorted in amusement, standing back up straight and jerking his head towards the side of the room. “I got my books and stuff. You good to help or…?”

“Yeah,” he nodded a little _too_ enthusiastically, just _beyond_ glad to get away from the topic prior. “Let’s uh… let’s go,” he motioned for Stan to lead the way, smiling back shakily at his friend’s beaming, grateful grin before he turned to walk towards his table, Kyle sheepishly on his heels.

Thin fingers clutched around the strap of his satchel, looking towards the wall to the apothecary and gulping again. Grego’ri knew. He fucking _knew_. He was in _so_ much trouble if he let word get out, he’d be punished somehow, someway. Problem was, he had no idea how _severe_ it could possibly be, he could very likely be putting his entire livelihood on the line. He closed his eyes for a moment, fighting down a looming anxiety attack at the notion. The outsider _had_ to keep his damn mouth shut. He obviously knew how much trouble Kyle could get into… he just had to hope that it meant something to the man he’d just hit in the damn face. Twice.

He and Stan sat at a far table, Stan muttering to himself as he shuffled through disorganized papers looking for his notes he needed assistance with. Kyle watched him, eyes blank as worry continued to pummel him into a meek shell. He just had to hope. Had to hope Grego’ri would respect his intellectual endeavors. Hope that he would keep his mouth shut and let him continue his work.

Hope that all he’d been working towards wouldn’t be for naught.


	13. An Evening Admonition

Kyle couldn't help but wonder just how long the clay pot brewing stew had been in his family's possession. He knew that at the very least his mother's mother had used it, but there was an air of mystery as to how far back it went. It certainly looked as though the last handful of generations had had their hands on it, stained with years' worth of broths steeping the sides, scorch marks crawling from the underside to rise like fingers clutching for a taste of their soup. He looked down to the sweet-smelling leaves in his fingers, a sharp rocked clutched delicately in his other hand as it slid through the plant fibers. He sighed to himself, glancing at his mother bustling about the kitchen, happily throwing Kyle's prepped vegetables into the pot to let them soak in flavors.

Kyle had a bit of a love-hate relationship working on food with her. It was something that kept him busy, something that took focus and dedication, something that wasn't just reading. But, it took him away from the things he _truly_ wanted to be out doing, knowing that he was running out of time and needed to leave for the outside soon if he wanted to catch Kenny at their meeting spot. He still needed to go out and gather nimikal'e, Stan taking up more of his time than he'd realized. Not that he particularly minded, but drilling him on stratagems was not exactly Kyle's idea of a good time to be had. He'd only stopped by home to get his bow and notebooks, unable to sneak past his ritavi's ever-watchful eye. She'd dragged him into the kitchen to help her prepare their dinner, no doubt feeling that keeping him preoccupied would keep him out of trouble.

Little did she know.

He picked up his handful of greens and made way beside her, waiting for her permissive nod before letting them sprinkle down into the simmering broth. He brushed his palms together to rid himself of residuals, shrugging a bit. "Well, I gotta go, Ma," he claimed, moving back slowly before a firm hand caught his short sleeve, cringing at the firm look in his mother's eyes.

"Where are you going?" she demanded.

He sank, brushing off her hand and scratching up through his curls. "I gotta do my scavenging for the kiantri before dark."

"I'm sure he won't mind you spending one night at home with your family, Kylenove'ia."

He rolled his eyes, "Ma, it's important to me. And everyone else. I gotta go." He tore his hand back from her grip and made way to their table, snagging his bag and quiver, sliding both around his wings.

Sheila watched him with a miserable pout, "Kyle… please. Be careful."

"Always am, Ma," he shrugged, refusing to meet her gaze as he grabbed his bow and empty hunting bag, waving as he headed towards the door. "I'll try to be home before dark."

"Make sure you are!" she demanded, Kyle barely hearing the end of her sentence as he seeped out in front of their home. He sighed, running his fingers up through his hair. She was impossible. Simply impossible. He began walking forward, awkwardly adjusting his bags and bow around his shoulders to try to make his journey a touch less arduous. A part of him hated how much he needed to transport to and from the outside world, but everything he took was a necessity. He needed his notes. He needed his nimikal'e bag. And Stan damn well insisted he needed his weapon more than anything.

Kyle hummed quietly, eyes scanning about the colored glass splattering the sides of his home, noting the array of dusted cinnabar, taupe, and mauve dancing across them like a field of illuminated amnesia roses. He still had time, there was still daylight to be had, the barest hint of mulberry just beginning to creep along the shards' edges. He made a beeline towards his exit as he continued fumbling with his materials, bare feet hopping and wings flitting the slightest in frustration. He cursed under his breath at his mother for distracting him, for being so hypocritical of where she considered his time should be devoted towards. "Family or work, Ma," he muttered. "Can't have both."

"Kylenove'ia!" a voice called, a soft tone that made a chill of fear run down his spine. He turned on his heel, wings automatically lowering in respect as he found himself face to face with the kiantri. The old man smirked, hands clasped behind him under his wings as he took long, purposeful steps towards Kyle. "Going off awfully late, aren't we?"

Kyle gulped, fingers moving up to fiddle with a bag strap. "My mother kept me from my chores, Mal'tene. I haven't had time to gather any nimikal'e."

He nodded slowly, looking between the young man before him and the gaping chasm off in the distance lingering up above. The doorway that had been forged so many generations ago, but so few had crossed through when not deemed necessary. "I believe we can have _one_ day where you don't find some, hm?"

Kyle's shoulders dropped, the notion of not getting outside in time absolutely devastating him. "I-I'd really feel more useful if I found-"

"Nonsense," the kiantri cut him off. "Come with me," he pivoted and began walking away. Kyle bit his lip, looking between his escape and back to the retreating elder and he sighed, head dropping as he begrudgingly followed the man's path. Green eyes flickered around as quiet murmurs began to spring forth, people outside their homes and shops bidding the kiantri well wishes before their sight landed on him and suspicion flickered through. Kyle cringed as faterian after faterian seemed to draw their own conclusion as to why he was trailing after the kiantri like a wandering mutt. He was in trouble, they surmised. He was in for a scolding. He'd hit someone again. He'd finally crossed that line where the kiantri's ever-caring patience ended. Didn't matter the reason, didn't matter how outlandish their imaginations painted him out to be walking in the man's shadow. Kyle could see it spelled on all their faces: No matter what they thought he was walking towards, they believed he deserved it.

His head fell further, only watching the kiantri's long robe in his peripheral, refusing to let himself make eye contact with anyone and read the judgement on their profiles. He'd had enough of that today from Grego'ri to last him a lifetime. The pressure seemed to grow with each step, wondering just what it was he was being led towards as the kiantri ducked between a collection of homes and guided him through the labyrinth of oaks and elms and evergreens filling their dungeon with hints of life.

"Kylenove'ia, you're being awfully quiet for you," the man teased.

He blushed, tucking hair back behind his ear. "I have nothing to say."

"That would be a first," he chuckled, slowing his pace. Kyle caught the shift and decelerated accordingly to stay his distance. The kiantri shook his head, waving him up. "Come here. No one is forbidding you from walking beside of me."

He gulped. Except, people _were_ , silent as they may be on the matter. Fateri were taught to keep back from their elders, from their betters. Once they propelled forward in society as they aged, they were permitted to walk alongside any faterian, the kiantri included. But Kyle knew better. He held the same amount of respect as any beginning apprentice, viewed as just stepping out of the naivety of toddling days to try to better himself. He hadn't earned high regard yet. He was barely able to pass off walking beside _Stan_ , let alone their leader. He shivered with nerves, glancing to see a few sparse members outside their homes watching as he made way to stand beside of the kiantri, keeping his head down, knowing that no matter how he tried to hide, no one would be fooled. His damn hair was a dead giveaway.

"You seem troubled," the kiantri commented, setting their pace yet again and leading him deeper into the cavalcade of trees.

"They're staring," he murmured, rubbing his arms and ducking his chin to his chest.

"Perhaps they're marveling at your bravery," he shrugged. "Making way towards the outside without so much as a flinch? Even the treagi can't manage that."

He scoffed out a small, sarcastic laugh. "Marveling at how stupid they think I am, maybe, Mal'tene."

The kiantri cocked his head, looking down at his sheltered form with a quiet sigh. He looked over Kyle's head to see a family watching them in a marred, but subtle mix of shock and horror at Kyle's placing. He gave them no more than a slightly furrowed brow, a silent dare for them to question his allowances. They snapped out of their confusion at the vague threat, the parents ushering their fateri back into their house with an apologetic glance given to the kiantri before they seeped through their wall. He looked back at Kyle's hunched position, "If you find their judgement so troubling, then why do you continue to venture out?"

Kyle bit his lip, knowing he had to tread _very_ carefully with how he approached his answer. "I… believe that we cannot advance if someone doesn't see what else there is outside of home," he said slowly, choosing his words with the utmost care. "There's only so much tomes can teach us, Mal'tene. Our ancestors _had_ to have gone outside to learn more, that trend shouldn't necessarily stop if there's a chance there's more to see."

He nodded, a soft hum coming through thin lips. "Perhaps. And what is it outside that you believe will advance us that your predecessors never found, Kylenove'ia?"

He gave a subtle cringe, knowing well enough he could've just waltzed himself right into a corner. "T-Tweek and Becca's work can only do so much with foragers," he elaborated. "And there are probably many more plants they can utilize that someone hasn't found yet. With the foragers cut down to only going out a few times a season, we're missing vital opportunities to discover more." He flickered his eyes up to grey ones staring down at him, trying to read with a quick glance if he bought a word of the ploy.

The kiantri clicked his tongue, looking from him to the branches splayed overtop their heads, leaves glowing in the tranquil, pink lighting. "If you believe such knowledge comes from the outside, then why are you _so_ insistent on picking fights with the _fater'kopia_?"

Kyle's worried expression quickly fell into a scowl. That fucking _tattler_. "What? The _vagrant_?"

"Kylenove'ia," he warned, letting his tone subdue Kyle back into his place. "He's a man of the stars," he reminded him. "Which means he's a man of the _gods_. You must show him some form of respect, feigned as you may make it."

Kyle gritted his teeth. "If he's a man of the stars, then shouldn't he be outside where his filthy kind belongs?"

The kiantri looked at him with a superior tilt of his head, a cautionary glaze over his stare. "Oh? If filth belongs out there, then why are _you_ so insistent on constantly going?"

He blinked, mouth fumbling as he stammered down an angry retort, trying to remind himself of just who it was he was talking to. "H-he in _particular_ is filth. Not… not _everyone_ on the outside. He's just a prick, Mal'tene. He doesn't belong here." His face was burning, plastered with visions of aikopia he'd observed throughout the years, the creatures he believed to be so _blessed_ and _fascinating_. Shining lights to see before being forced back down into his acrid home surrounded by monochromatic faterian going about their routines without so much as a flap of their wings in change. Aikopia weren't something to turn away from, but Grego'ri _was_. That jealousy was rearing its ugly head yet again, his innards _seething_ that the vagrant shared so much with the aikopia, from his freedom down to his tribe name. He hadn't _earned it_. He'd just been born into a grand fortune that Kyle would do _anything_ to change the past and come into himself.

The kiantri sighed, looking around at the homes surrounding them before turning back to Kyle. "Many here say the same of you."

"I was _born_ here," he placed a hand against his chest, teeth grinding. "They can say what they want but they're _wrong_. _He_ is the outsider."

"An outsider who brought us tomes, and stories. He brought us drawings and tales of the gods," he reminded him, a slight, _rare_ bite to his tone. "He has warned the treagi of dangers they never knew of, and our people as well. And he brings concern in particular for _you_."

Kyle blinked, face going pale and heart pounding erratically. "He… he came to you?" he asked, voice going meek and fear beginning to drag him down to drown. If Grego'ri spilled what he'd found out, if he let everything be known, Kyle was _fucked_. The kiantri would have him on permanent lockdown, stowed away in a claustrophobic tunnel dug into the mountainside and guarded by treagi. Every ounce of work he'd done would be destroyed, every word demanded to stay with him and only him as he suffered a long, solitarian death.

"He believes that you may be in over your head travelling outside so often," the kiantri said, inflection dropping back to its soothing normality. "He claimed you were… _too_ ahead for your own good," he cocked his brow. "Any idea why he would say such a thing?"

Kyle finally let out a shaking breath, thanking Tav'nokana that Grego'ri at least had the sense to use subtlety in ratting out his attack. "I-I don't," he lied. "May… maybe he was just raised to um… to believe that no fater'talei could survive outside like his people can. He thinks very lowly of us, Mal'tene."

He nodded, "He really does, doesn't he? Perhaps he fears you," he gave a teasing smirk. "You're showing him up in how often you travel for your research."

Kyle forced a shaky smile onto his face, coughing out a pathetic laugh. "Maybe. Or perhaps he just doesn't understand how civilized society works and it frightens him."

The kiantri sighed and shook his head. "Kylenove'ia. You know _nothing_ of his people. He may make judgement towards us, but we may not return the favor. You of all faterian should know that."

' _Why can you say that of him but not the aikopia?'_ Kyle thought bitterly before subtly shaking off the notion, less he open his mouth on the subject. "He calls us dirt dwellers."

The kiantri shrugged, looking down at their feet and kicking a bit of dust from the mountain floor. "He isn't lying."

"He doesn't mean it to be so literal. He means it as an insult," he frowned. "He claims we're _wrong_ in how we do things."

His lips curled into a knowing smile. "And you, who does _nothing_ as your predecessors have done for generations, judges him as such?"

Kyle pouted, "Just because I stray doesn't mean I don't respect it, Mal'tene."

He chuckled lightly, bringing them to a stop and patting his curls. "I know," he said quietly. His hands folded in front of him, looking down at the young scholar with a burdened sigh. "Just because he is not your friend does not make him your enemy. There are far more dangerous things to be concerned about than his arrogance. _Especially_ in your case." Kyle crossed his arms, shifting uncomfortably and staring at the ground until his chin was tilted back up, nearly wincing at the concern washing over the elder's face. " _Gameral_ will be your undoing."

"Thought Tetima was my problem," he murmured.

"You have _many_ problems, young one," he teased. "Gameral gives you a choice and you always choose Tetima's path without fail. They're dangerous to rely on, Kylenove'ia."

He looked off and away towards the shimmering nimikal'e, shoulders sinking at the dark blue stretching further and further up a multitude of shards. Kenny was probably already at the patch, just waiting for him, wondering if Kyle had abandoned their meetings entirely. "I don't rely on them," he finally answered. "They're just always there."

"All gods are always there," he reminded him. "But they can only lead us so far. It's up to us to choose whose path we follow."

He frowned, finally looking back at him and taking a deep breath. "If She's so bad to follow, why revere Her at all?"

"Because all of us have to make risky choices at some point. But we aren't supposed to make a habit of it."

Kyle scoffed to himself, shaking his head. "No one here takes risks, Mal'tene. They're all happy just pretending all that exists is here."

The kiantri nodded, "Preserving who we are is important. Because faterian like Grego'ri, or like you? They don't survive long enough for preservation."

He stiffened, "I've survived perfectly well." No one could take that away from him, no matter their standing above him. He'd perfected the art of discretion, had his sneaking about down to a science. When it came down to it, Kenny spotting him was a once-in-his-lifetime fluke. A very _fortunate_ fluke, but one nonetheless. He'd found the way to drag the aikopia away from their posts, had diligently timed just how long it would take him to swoop in and scavenge through their wares. He'd learned to not be too picky regarding his finds, whether it was broken or something he'd already procured in the past, he didn't have the _time_ to appraise his findings. It was a deadly game he was playing, always running the risk of not only someone spotting him, but becoming overwhelmed in his hurry and slamming his hand onto a stray piece of _tankeri_. Kyle thought of the makeshift, fraying fingerless gloves in his side pouch, wondering if maybe Kenny could make him something more viable, something that would keep him safer.

"For now, yes," the kiantri broke through his wonderings. "But the aidarkeri are always waiting for someone like you to cross their path," he warned.

Kyle cleared his throat, forcing a blush off his cheeks and brushing a wisp of stray hair back off his face. "I'm not afraid of them, Mal'tene."

"Afraid or not, they will still pursue you. And as far as you are from the treagi, you have no protection should they find you," he said somberly.

He shrugged, eyes dropping to the ground, "I don't need protected. And I can outfly them. There's nothing to be concerned about."

The man sighed, tilting Kyle's chin back up and shaking his head at the certainty glossing over his eyes. "We've all seen what they can do," he reminded him, voice tinged with helplessness. A shiver racked down Kyle's spine, radiating through his wings. He did know, he'd seen the aftermath of their brutality. When he was seventeen he had stumbled upon a forager in the woods. Well. What was _left_ of her.

Kyle could never forget the sight of skin seeming to seep right off her bones, muscles frayed and melted behind scorched tears, her eyes wide and filled with an indescribable agony that echoed into the barren woods. It was one of the only times he flew back towards home to find the treagi, unsure of how to approach the situation himself. The smell was unmistakable, the staunch, bitter aroma of steel, blood, and singed flesh. Throughout his twenty-four years, Kyle had paid witness to six of his people being brought back into the burrow, wrapped in cloth to keep from fateri eyes. The ceremony was always the same, no matter if it was a hunter, forager, or treagi who met their fate at the hands of those lurking in the mountains out of their scope. They would be celebrated for who they were, but it would immediately shift into a warning. The kiantri and the rilaste taking a tragedy and turning it into another horror lesson for the people to stay put, to remind them that those fighting for them and getting their food supply were risking their lives being so out in the open and they should be revered for what they did.

Why they were heroes and Kyle was considered a dangerous fool, he'd never been quite sure.

It mattered little, however. Because as far as Kyle could tell, he could have all their answers. _He_ could be the hero. He could get his people back into the open air with nary a care regarding the aidarkeri. He just had to be cautious about it. Had to keep it to himself. Well, now himself and Grego'ri at least. Kyle sighed, making a note to confront the vagrant on the situation later in private.

He looked into the kiantri's worrisome eyes, the kindly eyes that he saw family members giving one another, the ones that pled for them to keep themselves in one piece. "I'm being careful," he murmured. "I have my scent cover, I have my camouflage," he gestured to a wing. "Mal'tene, this is really important to me."

He nodded, "I know. That's why I don't stop you. But I wouldn't be doing my job if I didn't make sure it's always your priority to keep yourself safe from them or the aikopia."

Kyle managed to conceal a subtle flinch and cleared his throat. "The aikopia are of no concern to me. They stay in their homes; we stay in ours. They have nothing to gain from me."

The kiantri shook his head, "There's a reason we hide, Kylenove'ia. And it's not just the aidarkeri."

"Grego'ri's people don't hide," he muttered.

"They still don't go near aikopia. And even as such… their numbers are dwindling. While ours only grow stronger," he raised a wire-haired brow. "They will eventually die out from their recklessness, while we thrive. And they send off their own to other tribes, community means nothing to them."

He nodded, "I know. That's why we're better."

"Kylenove'ia," he warned, getting a sheepish shrug from the younger. The kiantri paused, looking off into the distance before turning back to Kyle and smiling a tad. "If you truly believe that, perhaps Grego'ri should be one of your next projects. Show him how important it is to stay with your own to strengthen yourself."

Kyle cringed, _loathing_ the notion of having to spend any amount of time with the outsider. "Mal'tene, I really don't think he'd listen to me. He called me Kylenavi… He knows no one else respects me, so why should he?" he pouted, eyes falling back to the ground in shame.

The old man sighed and shook his head. Didn't matter how many of their people he caught calling him that and reprimanded, it was one of the few things in their village that didn't seem to want to die. One thing he didn't understand, however, is how Kyle found the moniker so insulting considering his nature. Kyle himself had admitted he occasionally had the tendency to let his feelings go out of control to where he could hardly reel them back in, it was one of the few things he'd come seeking guidance for before their meetings were a daily occurrence. "There's nothing wrong with being fire," he finally said, Kyle blinking at him. "Fire cleanses. It starts things anew."

Kyle couldn't help but smirk a bit, "Thought you said I needed less of Tetima."

"Her fire wasn't by choice, yours is," he returned the expression. "Use it for good. Use it to burn down what he's built of you and start over. You're both men of paper and, frankly, both too stubborn for your own good."

Kyle sighed through his nose, scratching through his hair. "I'm not making any promises. If he makes me angry enough, I may find a way to lock him out."

He chuckled, patting his curls paternally. "I'm sure you'd have good reason. Just try to make some peace. If not for him, for yourself. You have enough going on to want to leave and go outside, I'm sure you don't need him as something else to run from."

He blinked, cheeks blossoming, "I don't go out to run, Mal'tene."

He gave him a sad smile and another pat, Kyle nothing short of baffled at his declaration. "Just try to be careful."

"I always am," he lied. "I'm fine. I promise."

The kiantri sighed and nodded, "I need to get back to the kana'fale. Just remember, here, _you_ have an authority that Grego'ri does not. No matter what anyone calls you. And please, behave."

"No promises there," he half-heartedly joked, nodding goodbye to him as he turned and walked away, leaving him alone in the mess of homes to heave a deep sigh. He still wasn't sure just where he stood, whether he was the kiantri's pet pupil or his most troublesome of followers. Either way, Kyle wondered if he'd ever be free of his watchful stare, if one day he wouldn't be enduring his impromptu lessons. He enjoyed talking with the kiantri when he wasn't being told to calm his temper, when they were merely spouting philosophies at one another or the kiantri would teach him some of his magics to sate his endless need for more to do with his abilities. In fact, it was the man himself who made his excuse for learning a new slue of power: There was nothing wrong with having a hobby.

It gave Kyle some degree of comfort, knowing that the kiantri found little wrong with Kyle expanding beyond his duties so long as his priorities remained steadfast as they should. But, he'd also noticed in his time at the kiantri's side that he seemed to be one of the only ones, if not _the_ only, allotted this excuse, seeing others scolded for stepping outside of their nederi boundaries. It made him ponder just how far he could push the hobby story, if he truly held such favor in the kiantri's eyes he could get away with nearly anything. But, a fear his parents and society rooted within him kept him from questioning him directly, or even so much as considering making any of his other 'hobbies' known. There had to be a limit, and Kyle no doubt had breached that by breaking two of their most-strictly enforced laws.

He'd never seen more than a scolding for veering from a nederi, but he'd seen faterian punished for other crimes with far harsher sentences. Stealing and forceful assault led to a trip to the caverns, kept away from the rest of their society in the dark, damp caves to serve out their crimes. Kyle wondered just how long he'd be forced down there should he be caught, or if things would be far more severe than just solitary confinement. There was more in store for him than a talking to, that much was obvious. But just how much more, he never wanted to find out.

Kyle glanced back at the glass lining the walls, lips twisting at the dark hues taking over nearly half of the shards. It was getting awfully dark. Kenny was probably already gone…

He glanced back the way he came, looking towards the high-lying exit and frowning. He wasn't going to take a chance that he'd just missed him and opt to try again tomorrow. He wanted to be _sure_. His wings spread out, knees bending as he leapt upwards, dodging branches and leaves as he climbed his way to cleared airspace, rapidly making way for the mouth of the chasm. His chest twisted, wondering if it was truly just Grego'ri that had prompted the kiantri to seek him out, or if there was something more that the man knew. If he had an inkling that he needed to keep a tighter lock on Kyle's adventures up above.

Kyle gulped, looking below him at the sparse faterian remaining before they turned into their homes for the evening, seeing in the fading nimikal'e lighting as some of them looked up towards him. He could swear he saw more than one scowl, a few head shakes. It only pressed him faster towards his goal, knowing he was running the risk of the kiantri spotting him, but it didn't matter. What mattered was seeing if Kenny was out there, learning more about him. What mattered was the advancement of his people, hesitant as they may be to take the leap.

However, what mattered the most was what the kiantri himself had said: Running from his prison.


	14. Aikopian Magic

Sprawling overhead were gradient shades, thin lines of golden apricots and blossomed mystique orchids quickly being overtaken as they pressed back against the impeding western, blackened sky. Kyle's heart was pounding, wings thrumming steadily as he leaned to avoid head-on collisions with plant life. He glanced up at stars peeking through the bare remaining hues of blue and growing stronger as his eye was drawn towards what seemed to be the edge of the world. They glimmered, as though the gods and spirits themselves were telling him to press on, to press faster, that they would guide his way.

Of course, he was no fool. The gods, should they have decided to appear beside him, would probably slam him against a tree until he fell unconscious and drag him back to his burrow. They'd inform the kiantri and all his people of what he was out here doing and demand they follow through with proper punishment.

Well, he thought with a somber smile, at least he could probably have Tetima on his side.

He grunted, hand hitting the side of a tree as he propelled forward deeper towards the outskirts of the woods. It'd been the perfect place to set up his mainstay for the time being, he'd believed. Far from the treagi, close enough to the humans he could sneak over to see them, but far enough into the wooded tangle that few would venture towards his allowances. And, apparently, he was being _rewarded_ for his expertly decided location. He'd been granted a gift, was given the great fortune of one to communicate with. That had to count for _something_. _Someone_ was watching over him and encouraging his behavior. Or, at least that was damn well what he was going to keep telling himself so he didn't drive himself mad keeping such a potentially detrimental truth hidden within him.

He groaned, trying to increase his speed as he neared the patch. Even if he could just catch Kenny leaving, say a quick goodbye and a promise to meet again soon, that would be _enough_. He just wanted to reassure Kenny that he wasn't _abandoning_ their meetings. He was an anxious wreck over the possibility that the human wouldn't see his not showing up as being inconvenienced, but as _choosing_ to abstain for his own good. Their time agreement was made only days ago, after all; it was early enough for either of them to change their mind without a moment's notice.

"Come on, come _on_ ," he begged his wings, his back muscles beginning to ache from the strain. They weren't used to this level of continuous travel, Kyle having the habit of stopping on his trips and scooping up items or scavenging about. Distance had never been his forte, a lean form unable to keep up with the energy needed for such excursions. Stan, on the other hand, could keep flying all goddamn day, he and Kyle declaring themselves tied in means of racing in their youth. Kyle could be drinking namial by the time Stan got past the finish line of a quick dash, but a trek down the mountain range with one another had Kyle halfway to passing out and Stan having to help him walk back home to rest his wings. Not that Kyle particularly _minded_ that being how it'd turned out. As much trouble as he tended to put himself into the path of, as many risks as he took sneaking in and out of the human's village, he _needed_ to be able to make that swift escape.

But now, he was in a race against the sky, praying for Tav'nokana to slow it down _just_ a bit, preserve those last lingering hints of light so he could get where he needed to be. He knew he was coming close, could smell the potent aroma of his crushed delphiniums wafting in the evening air. His bags slapped against his hip, his book thudding against the bone and the un-capped tip of his quill prodding into his muscle. Leaves and branches rustled as he blew past them, kicking up stray leaves from the ground following like the tail of a comet.

He grinned as the bushes came into his darkened view, finding that second wind at last and darting forward in excitement. "Kenny?" he called, swooping up over the plants and landing beside the ring, face falling all at once at the abandoned patch. The mulberries glowed an ethereal lilac in the thin strip of moonlight cascading down onto the land, accents to the emptiness he'd stumbled into. His shoulders dropped, fingers trailing up to scratch at his hair in pure disappointment. He shouldn't have stopped by at home. Should've just stayed out all day like he wanted to so his mother wouldn't have held him back. Kyle sighed, rubbing his arm and looking at the ground with a pout before his gaze hit a barely-visible bundle of plain tiretain lying within his ring. He cocked his head at a piece of paper laying on top, reading a bold script of _'Ky'_ in the faint lighting.

He gasped, hopping into the patch and kneeling, grabbing at the note with eager fingers and unfolding the tightly compacted parchment. Kyle grunted a bit, clenching his right fist tightly, feeling a rush of warmth spreading through him as he focused on his hand, waiting for his magics to take hold. All at once his hand was enveloped in a ghastly, luminescent glow and he couldn't help but beam proudly, moving it closer to the paper and turning his attention back downwards. He bit his lip, unable to help a smirk at Kenny's messy, almost childish penmanship. _'No idea how to spell your full name, apparently, you need to teach me that. Guess you got stuck at home, don't know if you'll make it out tonight or not but I left this here just in case. If not, either one of us will get it tomorrow. Or a dog might grab it. Guess we'll have to see.'_ Kyle let out a long, heavy sigh of relief, sinking onto the sides of his legs and smiling. Good. Kenny knew this wasn't by choice, not by a longshot. He continued reading, _'Got your numbers in the bag here for you. Got you up to one-hundred. Any higher than that you'll have to ask. I'm not writing all of that down at once, sorry, Bud. There's another thing in there for you, too. I left another note with it telling you what to do with it. I think you'll really like it if you can get it to work. Hopefully I'll see you tomorrow. If not, I'll keep trying anyway. -Kenny'_

Kyle cocked his head, turning to the bundle of cloth and slowly untying the loose top knot, watching the fabric cascade down around his gifts. He gripped the paper with his numbers, Kenny's messy script detailing each numeric, the telltale sign of his weariness evident as the numbers grew and the words became sloppier. Grinning at all the new information, Kyle tore his gaze back down at what remained, finding a heavy, faceted lump of glass. "What the…" he murmured, reaching down and picking it up, eyes sparkling at the heavy clarity in his palm. He squinted, never before seeing such an odd pattern within the material he thought himself so accustomed to, baffled by the sharp angles sculpted within. He hummed, gripping the second paper from its resting spot and bringing it towards his face.

' _My sister and I would hold these against the sun to make 'em work. I know you don't always have that option, but you said you can make light.'_ Kyle looked at his glowing hand, smirking bashfully, impressed that he'd managed to seem interesting enough for Kenny to remember something said in such quick passing in their last conversation. _'They worked with candles, too, so I bet whatever you can do will work. If your light is anything like your wings, then I'm sure it'll be fine. But if not, bring it back next time you come out to meet me and I'll show ya somehow. All you need to do is be in a darkened room, and put a bright light behind the glass. May take some moving around, but you'll know what's supposed to happen when it does. Hopefully it works out.'_

Kyle let out a small sound of confusion, tilting the glass in his hand a bit, looking at the nearly utterly black sky and pouting, knowing whatever he was trying to show him certainly wasn't going to happen out here with nothing but starlight in an open field. He couldn't help but smile shyly, overwhelmed with the idea of this other creature that he'd _just_ met giving him so much so soon. It just beyond proved what he had been telling Stan for years: The aikopia were so _generous_ with one another. Not like their own, where they kept to themselves unless getting into one another's business. Where generosity was done only out of ceremonial obligation or between only the closest of companions. But this? This was unprecedented, and Kyle was eating up every moment of kindness he was granted from this human.

He hummed happily, very delicately re-tying his gifts into their bag and genially lowering the bundle into his nimikal'e satchel. A warmness settled in his chest, a grin unable to tear itself from his face as he made sure to keep his present in its safest positioning for the trip back home.

He snagged his book and quill set from his other bag, turning to a fresh page and dipping within his ink, carefully beginning to scribe. A part of him felt pressured, this was the first time an actual human would read his scripting outside of those hurriedly scribbled notes Kenny had seen with his embarrassing misspellings. He groaned to himself a bit, biting his lip and keeping his quill steady as he pressed along the page. _'Thank you so much for what you have given me. I tried to get out as quickly as I could, but was kept back by the kiantri. I will try to not be in the burrow so close to our meeting time in the future. I-'_

He paused, head shooting up at a loud, crisp rustling noise from the treetops behind him. He blinked, nose wriggling for the distinguishable scent of a bird or a rodent scurrying about, not catching the telltale smell of feathers or fur at all. There was hardly any wind, not enough for that level of clamor anyway. His ears perked, listening for more sound and narrowing his eyes, baffled. There was _no_ wildlife to be heard. It was too early for the birds to all be packed away for the night, too late for the crickets to not be singing. Something felt _wrong_.

Kyle gulped, head pivoting before turning back to his letter, oddly stiffened by the lack of nature surrounding him. Stare lingering on his parchment, he could feel his chest clenching in the slightest, feeling the burden of being watched washing over him in the stillness of the night. Paranoia, perhaps, but the feeling was robust enough to lead him to an obvious conclusion. His gut was telling him to do something he _hated_ to do, but with all eyes turning to him the last few days, maybe being on the downlow for just a bit wouldn't be such an _awful_ idea. A part of him was pained, but he continued dragging the bone tip along his parchment. _'I do need to stay home for a few days in the evening, however. Things are getting a bit close and there are people curious why I am leaving home so late while they are still awake. Please give me five days and I can try again to meet you at this time.'_ He paused again, gnawing on his lip and hearing his heart pounding in the resounding silence. Instinct was screaming at him to finish and get home. _'If you are ever able, I am always out during the day, and most nights very late. If not, I will see you in five days. I am very sorry, I do not want to do this, but I just need to be careful for a little while. Thank you again for the gifts, I will find something to give you in return when we meet again. -Kyle'_

He stared at the wording, head tilting. He sure _hoped_ that was the correct way to spell his name, though with Kenny's query he was starting to doubt himself. He shrugged, making a note to get Kenny's help with those schematics upon one of their next meetings. With careful precision, he folded the note, scripting a careful _'Kenny'_ on the top of the paper before tucking it under a mushroom dome for stability. He just had to hope it didn't rain he supposed. He bit his lip, shoving his writing equipment back into its place, eyes darting around as his hand's light faded away and wriggling his fingers from the tingling aftermath of such a consistent flow of magic. He took another look at his note before turning away and fluttering his wings to get him back over the hedges. Kyle hissed, bringing a hand up to the connection between his wings and back as he landed hard on the ground, the muscles burning and the sections of cartilage creaking against one another. "Fuck," he winced. He overdid it apparently. All for naught. Well… He felt the glass and letters in his satchel and grinned softly. Not for naught, just not exactly what he'd been hoping for.

He sighed, bare feet moving smoothly over grass, expertly feeling branches and rocks before making complete contact and sliding over them to avoid injury. He'd been doing this for far too long to not be able to trek home in the dark, at least for another few minutes so his back could calm down. He looked up towards the mess of branches overhead, seeing stars peeking between individual leaves and taking a long breath. Something was better than nothing, he just had to remember that. He could go home and rest easy knowing that he'd still, in all technicality, made contact with Kenny tonight, even if the human wouldn't know it until the next night.

" _Aw. Teeny fateri all alone_." A husked voice broke through the silence of the woods.

Kyle came to a hard stop, eyes widening and spine stiffening. His hands automatically reached back, clutching around his bow and sliding it around his bags and wings, holding it in front of him as his eyes scoured the area. He knew it. Someone was here. Someone was _watching him_. "He… Hello?" he called out, skin prickling in the night air.

He quaked, reaching back and snagging an arrow, prepping it against the hemp before continuing to step forward, each step calculated down to the angle of touch his toes pressed against the dirt.

" _Awfully far for a fateri to be by themselves."_ Another voice sneered.

Kyle swallowed down a horrified gasp. More than one. He needed to get home. _Now_.

He raised his wings, adrenaline bashing down the strain as he forced his feet to pick up the pace, speed-walking his way towards a clearer area to begin flying off, waiting to see if more was done by his watchers. His breathing was quick and shallow, entire body trembling as more voices seemed to pick up around him in deep, bitter chuckles, the rustling of leaves above him seeming to grow louder and closer with every step.

A yelp left him before he could stop it as two figures hopped down onto the ground in front of him from the trees. He gritted his teeth, knowing that hesitating if the situation was bad could make it worse. He pulled back his hemp string, not giving a second thought before letting go, feeling the rush of his arrow flying past his finger as the cord vibrated with the release. He could barely see what'd happened before one of them jerked back and yelped.

"FUCK!" they screamed. "MY FUCKING WING FUCK!"

Kyle's eyes widened, pivoting and snapping his own wings at once, rapidly diverting away and on the escape route in their distraction. He could hear yelling voices amongst one another in a jumble as he sped away. He whimpered, dodging masses of plant life he could barely distinguish in his frenzy, trying to reach the mountainside. He screeched as a heavy force came down on him from above, tackling him down into the dirt. He winced, his stomach smashed against the heavy glass from Kenny before he was brutally flipped over and pressed down against the ground. He hissed, trying to hit his assaulter with his bow to ward them off before his arm was grabbed, shoved back into the earth as well.

"GET OFF!" he screeched.

"The FUCK did you shoot Fos'se for?!" a familiar voice shouted in his face.

He stopped, looking up at his silhouetted assaulter with his jaw shaking. "Ja… Jason?" he squeaked. He yelped as he was lifted and slammed back down with a sickening _thud_ of his skull bouncing against the land. All at once he was nauseous, vision blurring in and out as he was raised and tossed down time and again.

"The fuck is your problem, you fucking freak?!" Jason demanded, finally planting him down and waiting impatiently for his response.

Kyle shut his eyes, heart still palpitating faster than he could keep up with. "I-I didn't know… that… that it was you," he croaked. "I panicked…" he grunted with another brutal press down.

"You fucked up his _wing_ , you asshole!"

"I'm _sorry!"_ he screamed back.

"Get off him, _now_!" a _more_ than welcome voice yelled from a distance.

Jason glared at the figure hurriedly approaching. "Fuck _off_ , Stan, he fucking attacked Fos-" He stopped with a yip as a mass of fur and snarls leapt on top of him. Spar'ki rolled him off Kyle and bit at his arm, dark eyes gleaming with a bloodlust for attacking one of _his_ faterian. "GET YOUR FUCKING DOG OFF!" he screamed, pushing against Spar'ki's face as his jaw locked down on his forearm.

"Spar'ki, down!" Stan ordered, the coyote relinquishing his appendage and snuffing in his face before trotting back to sit in front of Kyle, keeping him blocked from a potential repeat attack. Kyle couldn't stop coughing with the sudden change of pressure against his chest, trying to find how to gather air back into his lungs. Stan looked at his fallen friend in the moonlight, reaching down and gently helping Kyle back onto his feet to find his bearings before glaring at his fellow soldier. "He wouldn't have had to shoot if _you_ didn't come after and scare the shit out of him!"

"I didn't come after _anyone_ until he shot!" he protested.

"What the fuck is going on?!" an authoritative voice boomed over the lot of them. Kyle flinched, Stan grabbing tighter around him as he leaned on his shoulder. They all straightened up into attention, the four of them looking to the source of the noise as the silhouetted figure grew nearer.

Stan sighed, squeezing Kyle's arm reassuringly. "Mal'tene, Jaso'nali and his bumfuck buddies startled Ky and he shot at Fos'se."

The man came up in front of them, Kyle shrinking down at the dominating gaze of Rilaste Yates focusing on him, shadowed menacingly in the pale lighting. "Oh really?"

"He shot Fos'se's wing into a tree!" Jason snapped. "He needs fucking taken back to the fuckin' toli'fale and locked in where he goddamn belongs!"

"Knock it off!" Yates ordered before turning back towards the young scholar, frustration warping into a slight smirk. "Hit his wing in a panic, that's damn impressive," he patted Kyle's shoulder. "Better fuckin' aim than this asshole," he jerked his head over towards Jason, who let out a series of disbelieving scoffs.

Kyle gulped, "I-I'm sorry," he said shakily. "I-I… I thought it was…"

"The aidarkeri?" he finished.

Kyle nodded, face burning with a reassuring squeeze from his naichi. "Yeah," he whispered, embarrassed at jumping to a conclusion like that so quickly.

Stan shook him, "Hey, it's _good_ you thought that was who it was," he assured him. "That's why we're out here so late. A hunter told us they thought they spotted one of them around. Rather you shoot Jason through the goddamn eye than let one of those fuckers get a hold of you."

Jason stomped back up to the three of them, teeth bared. "Fos'se didn't fucking deserve to get _shot_ ," he snapped. "He attacked without goddamn thinking!"

"You were fucking laughing like goddamn fateri story villains!" Kyle finally shouted back. "I had every _reason_ to think you were a threat! You fucking said 'oh, well, little fateri shouldn't be out by themselves'," he mocked. "Who _wouldn't_ think you were going to attack them?!"

Jason paused, looking at him with narrowed eyes. "What are you talking about? We didn't say anything. We weren't even _here_ until we landed in front of you."

Kyle froze, looking between Stan and Yates as they exchanged their own glances before turning back to Jason. Yates frowned, "Jaso'nali, here's the deal: If that _was_ you that was taunting him, tell us. No one will be in trouble. We won't let him punch you or anything. If it was you, just admit to it and-"

"I'm _telling_ you, it wasn't!" he insisted. "We were off and away, we heard someone calling out 'hello', and we came back here. Then _Kylenavi_ shot Fos'se," he bit.

"Call him that again and see what fucking happens," Stan snarled, Spar'ki following suit. Kyle hadn't even caught the moniker, eyes falling to the ground and blinking rapidly. It wasn't them. So, someone _was_ there. Someone that was more than able to make an escape after he'd distracted the treagi enough. Someone that was _after him_.

He gulped, "So… that _was_ the aidarkeri?" he said quietly, the three larger men looking at him and their faces scrunching in the slightest in concern.

"Who knows," Yates shrugged. "Either way, luckily Jason and Fos got here before whoever it was got a hold of you." He looked around at the rest of their unit closing in around them from the ruckus, Fos'se hissing and holding a cloth against his torn wing. "We're calling it a night," he declared. "If they were here, they know we're aware, so they've already run off I'm sure."

Jason rolled his eyes, "Good fucking job, Kylenavi," he muttered, walking past and shoulder-checking him hard against Stan's side.

Stan growled at him before Yates stepped up to the other side of Kyle with the dog between them, looking down on him sympathetically as they all stepped off back in the direction of home. "You should know better than being out here this late, Kid," he lectured.

"I had to do my job for the kiantri, or at least try," he murmured. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to screw up your hunt or whatever you call it."

He snorted, shaking his head. "It's fine, I'm just glad we found you. You know what the kiantri would've done to me if _you_ were killed by them?" he cocked his brow. Kyle sunk in embarrassment, feeling Stan snickering to himself and subtly punching him in the side. "Still, damn good aim," he complimented, patting his shoulder again before walking off in front of them to the head of the pack.

"' _Oh, but Stan, I don't_ _ **need**_ _to learn how to shoot a bow,'_ " Stan mocked in a high voice once Yates was out of earshot. _"'I can just fly away. Weapons are stupid.'"_

"Okay, I _never_ said weapons are stupid," he drawled, looking down as Spar'ki bumped under his hand to keep atop his head and he rolled his eyes, sliding his bow back around himself and doing as the dog wished. "And can you please just not do this? Kind of not doin' so great right now."

Stan nodded, smiling apologetically. "I'm sorry. Still, really glad I forced you into learning that damn thing."

He sighed with a long groan sneaking in through his breath, "Yes, Stan. You are my savior. I would have been nothing but melted flesh and broken dreams were it not for your valiant efforts I am forever in your debt. Now shut the fuck up, I just wanna get home." Stan opened his mouth to ask him his _real_ intentions being out so late before pausing, feeling a shudder racking through his best friend that he couldn't seem to get a handle on. He frowned, opting to pat him reassuringly and lead him back towards the mountainside, to let him breathe.

Kyle sighed, reaching down and grabbing at his satchel, letting out a sigh of relief feeling Kenny's presents still safely secured where they should be. He couldn't help but gulp, his eyes flickering further into the woods, unable to shake the unmistakable feeling of someone watching his every move.

* * *

The alehouse had so _little_ appeal anymore, Kenny noted. He rested his cheek in his palm, feeling the skin turning red from being positioned the same nearly the entire time he'd spent with his friends watching them bicker amongst one another.

It was surreal; he couldn't believe how meeting Kyle had dimmed down other things in his life so quickly. Nothing seemed as interesting as talking with him, learning things that no one else could possibly know. Hearing about his world held so much more importance than listening to Cartman brag about snagging an extra livatt out of a customer or about how Clyde managed to fuck up hammering down a nail into the correct shape. The night seemed almost empty in a way, unable to help once again pouting that he'd come to meet Kyle _prepared_ to take notes and hear more stories, but was denied the opportunity.

Given, he wasn't stupid, Kyle had made it _more_ than clear that he was risking a _lot_ stepping outside of wherever his people were from. He just needed to accept that there would be days where Kyle wouldn't be able to get out easily enough to make it in time. He sighed, taking a long sip of his bitter ale and swiping his tongue across his lips. He just had to hope for now that he was all right, he supposed. Tomorrow was just going to _drag_ waiting to make it back out to the woods to find out, though.

"Po'Boy, fuckin' answer!" Cartman snapped in his ear.

Kenny jerked back, nearly falling off his seat as he looked in panic at his friends staring at him. "I… I… what?" he blinked, heart pounding obnoxiously, almost deafening the sounds of the patrons surrounding their table.

Wendy cocked her head, watching his eyes fluttering and his chest heaving as he tried to gather himself back into the moment. "Are you doing all right?" she asked, putting a doting hand on his arm. "You've seemed really out of it tonight."

"I'm _great!_ " he replied with what even he could tell was _way_ too much enthusiasm. "How are you, Wendy?"

"Worried because you look like you're about to shake your way out the door," she raised her brow in suspicion. Kenny was one for getting lost in his thoughts and needing brought back down, he always had been, but not for this long a span of time. He'd hardly said a word since he'd sauntered in with a pout on his face and grumpily made his way to their table. He'd only muttered he had a long day at the shop, but something about his tone just seemed to tell a different tale. Not to mention, whether the other boys had noticed it or not, dirt stains on his pantlegs and a splash of ink nestled in the webbing of his thumb and index finger weren't his usual signs of a tough day at the needle. Watching his nails rapidly tapping against the edge of his mug certainly didn't speak to the notion of 'just another day' either.

Kenny cleared his throat, cracking his neck and giving a short shrug. "Just got some… excess energy that's all," he said through a forced grin.

Clyde smirked, "Well, spend it on _her_ ," he urged, pointing off into the crowd at a busty brunette watching him with a sly smile.

Kenny blinked away from her, rolling his eyes. "No thanks. Already did a few months back so she'd leave me alone."

Token snorted, "Wait, really?"

"I mended her dress," he shook his head. "She wanted to repay me… by not paying me," he scoffed. "Told her that wasn't happening. If I could buy food via orgasms I would but until that becomes possible without you know, being a prostitute, I need actual goddamn currency."

Wendy narrowed her eyes in the slightest, "I'm not seeing how this leads to you and her getting together."

Kenny shrugged, taking another sip of his ale. "A few weeks after that passed and she came by and waited outside the door for me to close up and I just kind of took one for the team so she wouldn't start lingerin' around and freak out Karen."

Clyde rolled his eyes, "Yeah. 'Took one for the team'. I'm sure it fucking _pained_ you."

"I didn't say it 'pained me'," he mocked. "She just kind of passed the time. Great tits though," he shrugged, flinching at a sharp slap across his upper arm from Wendy. He turned and watched her disapproving grimace with a smirk. "Sorry, should I have said they're not as great as yours or what, Babe?"

"I guarantee hers are better," Token input, nearly choking on a sip of ale as her elbow flew back into his ribs.

Wendy scowled, "Both of you knock it off. Ken, you in particular stop with the goddamn random hook-ups."

"Oh come _on_ ," he drawled. "She was the last one I've had in a while. This ain't like last year."

"When you were banging anything that moved?" Cartman rolled his eyes.

He pouted, "I was depressed and needed people. So what? I didn't hurt no one."

"You broke up nine couples," Wendy reminded him, shaking her head.

Kenny shrugged, taking another swig. "So? Not my fault guys n' gals can't keep it in their pants around me. I didn't break 'em up, _they_ did. And six of those I didn't _know_ were datin' someone."

"Or married," Token corrected.

Again, he shrugged. "You guys are just _jealous_. You two are like an old monogamous married couple," he pointed at Wendy and Token. "Clyde is on-again, off-again with Alice so much I don't think they stay together long enough for either of them to unbutton anything," he smirked at Clyde who pouted. "And Fatass here couldn't get anyone if he was richer than Token."

Cartman scowled, "Fuck _you_."

"Not for all the money in the world, Darlin'," he teased, barely evading a slap to his head.

"I've gotten far more than you stupid assholes could ever imagine," he drawled, sitting up primly.

Kenny smirked. "Oh? You one of your mom's customers, too?" Clyde leapt forward and snagged around Cartman's arms as he tried to lunge and tackle down the guffawing man. Kenny's eyes sparkled with mischief at the seething, furious breaths leaking between Cartman's teeth. "Oh calm down, Fatty," he patted his hair a bit. "I'm only teasin'. You can't afford her either."

"Po'Boy I swear I will fucking _end you_ ," he snapped, shoving Clyde off himself and glaring daggers at the cheeky grin over Kenny's face.

"I'm just _shiverin'_ in terror. And a lil bit of bein' turned on. Gonna give me a happy endin' there, big guy?" he winked, bursting into louder laughter at the nausea suddenly flooding Cartman's face. He grunted at a punitive punch against his arm, continuing to cackle as Cartman muttered to himself and downed a long swig of ale.

Wendy sighed and shook her head. At least he seemed to be back to normal at the very least. Token snorted at the show and shook her a bit, kissing her temple before turning his attention back to Kenny. "Hey, so my mom is willing to let you work on the cushion," he informed him.

Kenny finally simmered, meeting his stare and breaking into a grin. "Really?"

He gave a curt nod, "Yeah, I'll bring it by tomorrow if that's all right."

Kenny nodded back with enthusiasm, "That'd be great. May take a little longer than usual since I have some wedding dress deadlines I'm dealin' with."

"No problem," he shrugged it off, taking a drink. "No hurries, we just want it done right."

"I'm your man," he saluted cheekily.

Clyde smirked, "When are ya gonna bring _me_ some elaborate work, Token?"

Token snorted, "Soon as I decide to go off and be a warrior, you can make my sword. Deal?"

"And it'll be the best goddamn sword out there," he promised, tipping his mug. "You know, provided Feldon lets me goddamn handle something like that," he rolled his eyes. "Been working for the guy for years and he still only lets me do little things."

Wendy shrugged, "Takes better eyes than what he has, I'm sure he'll let you do more after some more time. He's stingy with customers, I can't imagine how stingy he is with you."

"Don't even get me started," he groaned. "I think _Cartman's_ apprentice makes more than I do."

"Don't bet on that," Kenny drawled, "Fatass is takin' advantage of the kid like it's his job."

Cartman rolled his eyes, "It _is_ my job. Some of us care about making the profits to stay in business, Po'Boy, and that means cutting expenses where you can."

Kenny scoffed and shook his head, leaning his cheek back into his palm and twisting his lips as his eyes fell back to the table. He wondered if Kyle's people had money, if it was made with polished wood or something of the sort. Or if they even had a point in monetary means. Maybe Kyle would be willing to explain their currency system as exchange for all his new numbers. Or even with as little as Kenny knew about him, he would bet that he'd probably just be willing to tell it if Kenny showed the _slightest_ hint of enthusiasm. It was bewildering in a way, how fascinated the fairy would be with any mentions of his life, how he soaked in every word with wide eyes and a fond smile. But, he supposed it made sense. After all, Kenny thought his own stories were boring, nothing but what he'd been doing for twenty-five years. He had to remember it was the same in Kyle's case, too. Nothing but a clash of lifestyles between them and yearning to be in the other's shoes or wings.

His finger steadily tapped along the side of his mug, looking past Wendy and out towards the wide bay window over the heads of fellow patrons. Distant trees and mountains stood tall, silhouetted in a blanket of starlight. A long sigh seeped through his nose, eyes drooping in the slightest as he continued to ignore life for the moment, let himself wander in something more.

He jerked up a bit at movement hovering above the trees, brow raising at a speck of a figure hovering above the branches. Seemed too big to be an owl or something… He smiled. It was probably Kyle, he assumed. Just out there later than he'd expected to be. His smile fell a tad as several other specks flew up beside the first, unable to distinguish a number. _'What the…'_

Kenny blinked, straightening up a bit as he watched the figures dart away and back deeper into the woods towards the mountains. His brow slowly crept up, wondering if Kyle had been out with others so close to the forefront of the forest. That didn't seem to make sense considering how cautious he was with his people finding out what he was up to and how apparently stringent they were against venturing. Maybe it was another group from his tribe. But that just didn't seem to quite add up. He hummed to himself, arm getting slapped again and turning back to his friends, forcing himself to participate in their inane conversations.

All the while, through forced grins and constant slams against one another, Kenny's mind just kept wandering on back to the night sky, curious as to why something was just not feeling _right_.

* * *

Dinner was nothing short of a nightmare, Sheila going into a full-fledged panic over how late Kyle had been kept out, pointing out a conspicuous bruise starting on Kyle's arm from being tackled. He'd mumbled out an excuse about merely falling when he was out and losing track of time, picking at his food while she continued to yell him down. He could hear his father merely sighing the entire meal, feel Ike staring at him with suspicion. He'd finally excused himself ten minutes in, barely touching his food and heading up to his room, just too wiped out from the events of the night to stand her berating any longer.

He seeped in through his wall, his bags and weapon hanging flaccidly from his hand. Kyle's shoulders dropped, rubbing his eyes with his forefinger and thumb, just wanting this whole terrible experience to be left behind. He couldn't seem to shed the feeling of eyes watching him, _waiting for him._ Those eerie voices sent prickles down his spine and through his wings, wondering just what the hell he could've ended up in the middle of if the treagi hadn't been there.

He sighed. He supposed it didn't matter. What mattered was he made it out just fine, even if now he had to worry about fucking Jason beating his face in for wounding his friend. Hopefully Stan would know that that was a potential scenario and keep them apart from each other.

Kyle hummed, pulling his bags off from over his head and tossing them onto the bed, snagging the one so heavily weighted down with Kenny's gift. He pulled out the thick glass piece, tilting it in his hand again and biting his lip, looking around at the illumination flooding his room. Clicking his tongue, he placed it safely on the mattress, walking over and snagging an old knitted blanket from the top of his closet. He unfolded it, nose scrunching from the smell of years of not being used since his mother had crafted it for him as a fateri. He shook out a bit of dirt from atop the wool, making way to his window and grunting as he hopped into the air and hovered, carefully pinning the covering over the pane and blocking out the view of his village. Backing up, he tilted his head at his work, nodding satisfactorily before reaching up and placing his fingertips against a large shard of nimikal'e embedded in the wooden ceiling.

He narrowed his eyes, concentrating and feeling a tingle rushing through his arm. A long breath of relief left him as a glowing blue light finally faded away. Licking over his lips, he raised his second hand, planting them both firmly against the sheet and closing his eyes, his entire body pulsating as it tried to adjust to his magics once more. He wasn't like the magic-workers of their village, he hadn't grown to be trained for his body to handle the influx of power. But, according to the kiantri, he'd adjusted well to it. It didn't completely wind him anymore, and it didn't hurt like the first few times had. Time, practice, adjustment, and patience, the old man had reminded him time and again. He'd figure it out much sooner than he believed if he just kept that in mind.

Kyle hissed, looking up with a start as the entirety of his ceiling went dark. He gulped, pulling his hands back and once more landing back on the ground, cracking his wrists as he did so. It was a nightly routine he'd had for well over a year, but he still just hadn't quite mastered it. He could only hope that time would come soon enough, tired of struggling to wrap up his night before heading to bed. Kyle hummed, turning and maneuvering his way around his room through the darkness, holding a clenched fist up until it began to glow a beaming yellow and glancing around the room. He came to a stand by his writing table, ripping open a drawer and shuffling around the confines until his fingers hit a smooth, cold surface.

Carefully, he pulled out a spare, broken shard of nimikal'e, holding it in his lit hand and biting his lip. He glared at the surface, every ounce of concentration honed in on its gleaming surface. He jerked back as light flooded the pane, spreading like water before drowning it entirely and letting it become luminescent in his grasp. He grinned, sighing with relief and allowing his hand to finally lose its shine and shake it out. He glanced back to the piece set so delicately on his bed, cocking his head and wondering just what it was he was in for as he moved back towards it. Snatching up Kenny's instructions once more, he let his eyes flicker over the spattered script.

"Hold it behind and may have to move it," he murmured to himself, shrugging and turning to sit on his bed. He made a small, considering noise, gripping the heavy gift and moving it in front of his infused piece as they glimmered with one another. He bit his tongue a tad, awkwardly twisting both and watching the faceted lump, seeing beams of light blasting through but little else. "What is this?" he questioned, moving his light around the underside.

He grumbled time and again, just not having the energy to figure out Kenny's encrypted surprise before a spark of color caught his peripheral. He jerked his head over, eyes widening at a simple, multicolored splash innocently laying against his wall. Kyle blinked, moving the light source just a tad and how the colors shifted with it. "Whoa," he whispered.

He pivoted, continuing to try to keep the rainbow in his sights before the light came to a sharp corner along the bottom, Kyle's mouth dropping at the colors stretching out all at once against his wall and fading away into his reflective ceiling. He laughed breathlessly, carefully moving backwards, careful to not shift the pieces and laying them just barely hanging over his nightstand. With more care than he'd ever used in his life, he pulled his fingers away, watching them for a moment to ensure their stability before turning and crawling to the edge of his bed, sliding off the foot and making way almost nervously towards the beaming light. He cocked his head, a wide smile spreading over his face and eyes glittering with wonder. He licked his lips, pressing his fingers against the surrounding golden beams before sliding with care over to touch the beginnings of an ethereal indigo.

He could hear his own heartbeat, watching the shadow of his hand and arm blocking off some of this wonderful, otherworldly experience. A giddiness couldn't seem to leave him, entire being tingling as he slipped through the colors, nails scraping along his wall and grinning as his skin was overtaken with varying hues. He was a living canvas for glass, finally returning the favor he'd been asking of it for so long, and he felt a warmth radiating through his chest at the notion. His eyes traced up, following it hugging the curve of his rounded room and spreading to accommodate before hitting a hard stop at the junction and continuing in a narrow, straight line through separated lines between his own lights. It faded off with such softness Kyle could only equate it to mist, nothing but dissipation into the unknown and seeping up into his ceiling, blessing his home with its colors.

He let out a shaky, overwhelmed breath, taking his arm back and smiling, backing away from it and unable to tear his gaze from its wonder. " _They can make colors, too_ ," he whispered, hitting the foot of his bed and slowly sitting down. All he wanted to do was stare, memorize every transitional tone, how it so gradually spread into the golden background like combatting the setting sun. Stan was wrong, just as he'd suspected. His own colors were nothing like this, nothing so celestial and wonderful, nothing so captivatingly alluring. He leaned his cheek into his palm, eyes half-lidded as he slipped into a dreamy stupor.

The trials of the day were now nothing more than noise in the background, every ounce of his attention right where he wanted it to be. He let his eyes slip shut for only a moment with a contented sigh. Thank Tav'nokana for light. Thank Tav'nokana for color. He grinned wider, eyes fluttering back open with another happy breath. Thank Tetima for Kenny.


	15. A Thimble Gamble

Wrought iron had a tendency to catch on fibers, and each snag liked to make Kenny freeze in panic. Only a handful of minor tears throughout his time at the cloth had been more than enough to instill a paranoia, especially when working on a customer trying, but failing, to keep themselves stock-still. Last thing he needed was to put a rip in silk and subject himself to a haughty look and a claim that now they were owed a _discount_.

His lips pursed tighter around a line of pins, ignoring the metallic flavor leaking off the heads as a steady hand pressed the needle through its interference. He allowed himself to exhale as it slipped under and through without a marring, glancing to the patient woman in front of him with her right arm extended.

Baby weight, she'd told him sheepishly, just needing the waistline let out a tad. Kenny was no moron, knowing he was looking at the work of pastries and heavily buttered bread for only one. He didn't care either way, but he could never understand why people, the women in particular, had to make _excuses_ as to why they needed alterations. Levick had _loved_ messing with customers pulling the same harmless wool. He'd ask for due dates, told them he would mark them down right away for needing swaddling clothes. He would keep them wrapped in conversation regarding names and preferred genders and just what they planned to do about the extra money they would need.

Kenny would always watch from the sidelines with his own work, grinning as women awkwardly stumbled their way through half-thought answers and Levick stayed nothing but personable. Kenny knew he could never pull off the same level of mischief, not so seamlessly. He knew himself far too well, knew that he would bust into a giggling fit as soon as a stuttering reply would worm its way into the discussion. And so, tragically, he found himself having to remain _professional_ , just on the off-chance of hurting feelings and losing income. There was a time and place, Kevin had reminded him after a particularly snarky day had lost them an order. After all, Kenny was _always_ a jackass to his friends on a nightly basis, why would he need to exude that side of his _charming_ personality where the money was made?

Kevin may have been right, but that didn't mean Kenny had to _like it_.

But that's what his pins were for as they left soft indentations along his lips. Kept him from having to suffer through _small talk_. No customer wanted to wax philosophies, wanted to talk about things grander than themselves. No, they wanted to talk about merchant pricing and the bad eggs they'd made that morning. They wanted to whine about their husbands and wives, groan about their jobs. They wanted to ask him if he was excited for the hotter season and how his business was going and his theories on why incomes just weren't keeping steady with inflation.

He didn't know. He didn't _care_.

They were a village where they would greet one another with friendly faces, but the façade fell flat in the aftermath. They all knew it wasn't so much spite or _annoyance_ , it was just focuses falling all over the map. So, they split into cliques where actual conversations could be had. Mothers would band to chatter about child-rearing techniques alongside their work, men would gripe to one another about the hardships of marriage and not killing their bosses. And Kenny? Kenny and his friends, they didn't know exactly _what_ clique they'd be classified as. The drunks? The loud-mouthed hooligans? The kids in way over their heads trying to get the hell out of Canirem?

Kenny had always wondered if it was the same dynamics everywhere, if even in bustling cities people were divided into personal groups alone and never said more than dictated pleasantries to those outside their standing. Seemed like that would be just _strange_ when there were so many people and so many levels of activities one could find oneself intertwined in.

He sighed through his nose, leaning a bit closer towards the woman's waist and diligently feeling along her seam for his line of give, marking in place as he went along. He hated working on people, knew that a single tremor of his wrist could lead to a pore being impaled and a very angry patron. But, it was part of the job. Just as reviled as concocting his fabric marker and just as common as pants needing hemmed.

"Can it be maybe just a _tad_ looser around the hips, too?" the woman requested, a soft wince as she glanced under her arm at him. Kenny met her stare, offering her a nod and barbed smile and reaching up along her side. Feeling along her hip, he could make out the distinctive rise of the band of her tights, and his brow furrowed at the interference. His middle finger crept up to meet a resting pin already in place, running it straight down along the side to find his marking. Taking another pin from his mouth, he freed up the side of his lips, letting a noisy breath whisk its way through.

Eyeing the taut cotton stretched along her belly and the way it distinguished each extra pound, he hummed to himself. "Want it out a good deal? Or just an inch 'er so t' make it form-fittin'?" he asked clumsily through his lopsided mouth.

She took a long breath, staring in consideration. "What's the price difference?"

He held out his palm, spitting out his pins and smacking numb lips. "Well… ya don't need it out _much_ t' fit snug-like. So, I can just work with the seam ya got. Otherwise I gotta make panels. We gotta decide 'fore we do the other side."

"Panels?" She repeated.

Kenny nodded, wincing as aching knees brought him back up and standing next to her. "Pretty much I'll take yer dress here apart, put in some spare fabric," he pointed to the dwindling rolls on his wall, "and piece it all back t'gether. That'll be a lil' pricier, but it'll keep ya able to wear it a lot longer. Seam'll be stronger, too."

Gnawing on her lip, she stared at the line of cloth before turning to meet his patient stare. "Well… what do _you_ suggest?"

He crossed his arms, shrugging. "I think ya should do the panels. If yer gainin'… _baby weight_ , then, longer you can stay in 'em, the better, yeah?"

The woman nodded slowly, weighing his theory. "Yeah… makes sense. Do you have something to match?" she gestured to her dress.

Kenny stared at the olive shade before him, glancing between her and the wall and letting out a long breath. "Ain't got much green, honestly. Kinda short on my leaves for that. We can getcha somethin' that coordinates, though," he shrugged again with a wince. "Less chance it'll clash or somethin' that way anyway." She gave him another nod and he glanced off to the side, smirking at Karen trying to sneakily steal glances towards them but failing and missing steps with her embroidery. "Kare, wanna help her pick somethin'?"

"Yes!" she jumped up, stabbing her needle through the skirt edge stretched through her hoop and hurrying towards them. Kenny stepped aside and let Karen lead her towards the walls down towards their neutral cottons. He shook his head in amusement, walking towards his work table and snatching the waiting order book, dropping his spare pins onto the surface. He sighed, flipping through and shaking his head at the number of recent requests that had yet to be scratched off.

Just too damn much to do. Good for the business or not, he _hated_ this part of the warmer seasons coming back around. Cloth just got worn and torn too damn fast to keep up with, people would complain that their clothes weren't impenetrable to the forces of nature, that _he_ had to be doing something wrong. It couldn't _possibly_ be their own fault for misunderstanding the concept of not getting their sleeves caught on farming equipment. But the workload was beginning to become next to meaningless, stuck in a repetition of nothing but minor repair work and keeping up with growth spurts that would take him an hour or so to mend and grant him no more than pocket change.

He uncorked his inkwell and snatched his molting quill, finding the next blank space and groaning under his breath. A full dress would take him a good day or so to finish, and he still had a line of pants he had to goddamn hem. He stole a glance at Karen chatting away with the woman, looking _more_ than relieved to get off the decorating committee. Maybe he could sneak her the resources to do the hemming, she could pull that off well enough. They'd just have to make it _look_ like she was doing her typical duties to appease their dad…

He rolled his eyes. Shouldn't have to _sneak_ jobs around his own shop, but that was just where they were, he supposed.

Jotting down a quick notation, he scripted ' _olive dress, let out for panels'._ He read along through his due dates, counting down along the page, mentally spacing out each order, trying to figure out if unexpected customers had shoved him back too far to keep on time. Probably not, having figured out even as an apprentice to always tell them at _least_ a day or two further than the optimal time to be finished. Kenny's teeth clicked, looking at the next-to-last order. Nothing more than a shirt needing some minor repair, a two-hour job at _most_. _'So, probably just day after that for this'n,'_ he thought, noting his decided timeframe.

The loud _thunk_ of their door swept through the shop, Kenny glancing up and breaking into a small grin at their visitor. "Hey, Token," he greeted.

Token gave him a return smile, spritzed with an air of guilt. "Think you know why I'm here."

"Yeah, yeah," he snorted, waving away towards their front counter. "Go get the damn book." Token nodded, moving to do as told and Kenny's smile fell flat. He forgot the month had just started, which meant Token's goddamn monthly _tax rounds_. A sigh came and went, his hand moving to fan over his ink to speed its drying. No avoiding it, unfortunately. Even being close pals did nothing for any of them when it came to his collection speed. Kenny had always been caught in the middle of proud of his friend for doing his job and cursing him out for being so damn _efficient_ at it.

Token snatched Kenny's ledger from the top shelf under the countertop, flipping through to the previous month's totals and blinking, forcing himself through a long breath as he began walking back towards him. His eye fell to Kenny's credit column, shaking his head at the prices from Cartman's shop running at such outrageous rates. "Ken," he spoke as he stepped up beside him, eyes never leaving the book as Kenny turned his attention towards him. "You're barely equaling out."

He pouted but shrugged, "Well… are you surprised? Fatboy ain't givin' me no slack. I gotta buy my stuff, dude."

Token frowned, finally tearing his attention back off the paper and meeting bright blue eyes. "Kenny, eventually you're not going to be able to _afford_ your stuff. You _need_ to keep up with _his_ prices."

Kenny stood up straight and crossed his arms. "Hard t' do that when he's increasin' every goddamn time I step in his damn store. If I go _too_ high, people are gonna mend their clothes themselves or some shit. I gotta keep it low."

He rolled his eyes, "That's _not_ how it works. Ken, Levick's prices are _done_. You _have_ to keep building or you're going to lose your shop!" He glanced back at the workload notes and his face twisted. "Looks like production is dropping a bit, too."

"Not my fault I'm good at my job," he drawled. "I'm just fixin' their clothes too damn well, they don't need 'em altered all that much. 'Sides, busy season is just kickin' in. This is when I start makin' the money t' get me through the winter, Token."

Dark eyes met his again and he shook his head, "You're _way_ overpaying for fabric."

His brow furrowed, "I _know_. You willin' t' pay t' get me someone cheaper to do runs for me? No? Because that's the only way I'd get 'em for their actual worth. Listen, he's fuckin' me over, but I don't have any _choice_. I just gotta deal with it and hope that we have some damn newborns poppin' out or the kids all hit some growth spurts…" he glanced to his mother looking at him under her lashes and gulped, lowering his voice. "We just may hafta eat a lil lighter this year, okay? We get a few travelers buyin' stuff most every year, right? Maybe we'll get a shit-ton of 'em this time 'round."

Token's face fell sympathetically, immediately straightening back out at a flash of irritation swooping across Kenny's profile. "Ken. The prices are your choice."

"Yeah, but damn if every one ain't the right one," he scoffed. "Token, ya know who can _afford_ me t' jack up my prices? You. Your parents. End of list," he emphasized. "I ain't gonna sell shit that even _I_ can't afford. Cartman and the damn farmers and the baker get all the damn leeway they want, they have the most t' play around with. All I got is clothes, Dude. And people don't need new pants much as they need bread n' whatnot. Gotta deal with what we got."

He heaved a heavy sigh, watching the misery of the truth ringing through pitiful eyes and shaking his head. "This isn't fair."

"Most things ain't," he laughed bitterly. Incoming footsteps brought his attention back around, forcing another smile for the girls approaching him, a bundle of walnut cotton in Karen's arms.

She held them out, a proud smile over her face. "This'n."

"All right, looks good," he nodded, motioning for her to set it on the table. "Kay, doing it this way is gonna run ya 'bout…" he looked up, running through simplified price adjustments, his fingers tapping on the table and lips moving as he thought, "Three livatts n' five. We'll take it out 'bout an inch or more further than the seam, whatever you want."

The woman nodded, making a quiet sound of surprise as Karen softly pushed her arm aside to begin unpinning Kenny's marks. "Maybe two inches," she shrugged, "I can always tie it off if it's too loose."

"That works. I'll throw ya in a tie t' match yer panels," he smiled, ignoring the peripheral view of Token shaking his head in disapproval. "Just bring it back in in the next day or so. Should be done by next Wednesday."

She looked down at Karen taking the last barb from her hip and met eyes with him again, oiled blonde curls bouncing as she nodded with a grin. "Thanks, I'll drop it off tonight." She reached into her pocket and pulled out four dulled silver coins, Kenny shaking his head with a grin.

"Don't gotta pay 'til it's done."

A thin brow cocked, "Not payin', preemptive tip," she declared, grabbing his wrist and forcing it into his hand.

Kenny winced, "This is more than yer total bill, ya don't need t'-"

She held up her hand and stopped him. "I can afford it. Not many can. So, thank you," she smiled, giving Token a slight narrowing of her eyes before whirling on her heel and heading out the door.

The three of them watched after her blankly, Kenny looking down at the money in his hand before looking up at Token and smirking. "Well damn. Can ya come back in with _every_ customer I get 'n we just run through the script again 'n again?"

Token snorted lightly, "You lucked out with it being her and you know it. The ranchers like her definitely aren't suffering, but not many can slip you forty so easily."

Kenny scratched up through his hair, dropping his coins into his apron pocket. "I know, I know. And I ain't expectin' 'em to. Just… really bites, ya know? Betcha city people ain't got no problems like that."

He shrugged, "You'd be surprised. Not everyone in a city is loaded. A lot of people live on the outskirts in towns like ours. And they have to _stare_ at all the things they can't afford every day."

"Rough," Karen piped in, rolling her eyes. "Must be _real_ hard t' see more than trees. What an awful life."

Token's mouth twisted a bit, "Probably have people there who're just as bored with their lives as we are with ours. Maybe even people living in the city who'd rather be out here where it's quiet."

"I'll trade," Ken said immediately. "Find me these people and we'll _happily_ relieve them of their 'misery'." He jerked his head towards the ledger in Token's hands. "All right, how much?"

He muttered under his breath and shook his head. "Give me a second, I'll figure it out." He turned, pulling his own accounting book and quill out of a side satchel. Opening to a fresh sheet, straight-lined penmanship began to fill the blank space with numbers that Kenny couldn't keep up with if he tried.

Ken chewed on his tongue, grabbing his pen and hurriedly jotting down the woman's determined price and the give needed, not bothering with waiting for the ink to dry before slapping the journal shut. Not that it mattered, it wasn't exactly a _complex_ order to keep in mind. 'Sides, Karen had a memory like a crow, she was always on the ball in combatting Kenny's pathetic retention skills.

Token looked up at him and fought to keep that sympathetic expression well and away. "Cartman's your only merchant, huh?"

"Considering he's the only merchant in town, I ain't got much choice," he reminded him dryly. "Now. How much?"

He winced, "Uh. Nine haithins."

"What the damn hell, Token!" Karen snapped, Token flinching at the shrill fury in her tone.

Kenny closed his eyes, taking a long breath and stepping back, putting a calming hand on Karen's shaking shoulder. "How the fuck… is it that much?" he worked out evenly, forcing himself to look back at a very guilty-looking friend.

"You… brought in some pretty expensive orders," he reminded him. "Silk isn't cheap."

"It's the weddin' season, the fuck else was I s'posed to do?" he demanded.

Hands flew up in defense, "Kenny, I _know_ ," he promised. "But fact of the matter is import taxes are getting higher. Cartman's overselling _his_ share, but you still have to pay the actual deliverer."

Kenny squinted, "I thought I did that through Fatass."

Token cocked his brow, "Uh, no. You pay the draper through him. I hire the deliverer, so I pay them."

He paused, letting it sink in as a scowl began to form on his face, "He, _and his grandmother_ , told me that the prices kept getting raised because the 'stress' on the guy bringin' my stuff!"

"No. Draper taxes stay the same. The _fabric_ gets more expensive but their sales tax hasn't budged in probably six or so years," he shrugged.

"Okay, what the FUCK!" Kenny snapped, a fist smashing on the table and drawing his mother's attention enough for her to get to her feet and watch with caution. "So, I'm gettin' screwed through _both_ sides?"

Token crossed his arms, shifting along the balls of his feet. "Listen, their taxes didn't go up that much… but the stuff you ordered is _dangerous_ for them to transport. When you order silks and linens, they have a higher risk of getting robbed and possibly killed. And, again, you ordered a _lot_. So they're going to price it out accordingly." He glanced down at Kenny's notes and his nose scrunched, "You ordered colored silks, too. That's even riskier."

"Well, the price of my damn dyeing supplies when they're outta season probably would've come close to 'em in price, right?"

"Wrong," he winced, seeing Kenny's right eye beginning to twitch. "I know it's easier to do colored, but… as a business partner, I'd suggest sticking more with the dyeing only."

He scoffed, "You think I don't _know that_? The _only_ reason I get colored fabric of any goddamn kind is if something's in low supply or the goddamn rich people won't sell to us lower-class country nothings. I know what I'm doin', Token, and I don't need yer educated ass comin' in here tellin' me how t' run my shop!"

"Kenneth," Carol warned, moving from her seat to get closer to the group, seeing Karen looking up at her big brother with wide eyes, not used to hearing that kind of attitude against anyone that wasn't Cartman or their father.

Token finally broke into a scowl, "You got the same education I did, Kenny!"

"No I didn't! 'Til we were, what, eleven or some shit, yeah. But you kept on goin' while the rest 'a us had t' get t' work!"

He dragged his hands over his face and let out a long groan. "Ken. I swear, I'm not _trying_ to insult you! I'm trying to _help you!"_

"Help yerself t' my door," he gestured to the front of the store pointedly, chest clenched and teeth gritting.

Token shook his head, "What is going _on_ with you? You've been out in the goddamn clouds all week and now you're pulling this _attitude?_ Did something fucking happen?" He paused, looking towards the back of the shop and the steam he could see rising from their litsters' cauldron through the window. His face fell, "Was it your dad?" he asked quietly.

Kenny rolled his eyes, "No. I don't give two shits 'bout whatever the fuck he says or does."

"Then what is going on?" he demanded.

Carol cleared her throat, scratching at the back of her neck with brittle nails and drawing their attention. "He's right, Ken," she said, giving him a warning look at his mouth dropping open to retort. He quickly slammed his jaw back shut and she looked at him with concern. "You've been quiet… Not yerself. Been starin' off more than usual n' runnin' off all the time. What's goin' on?"

Kenny blinked rapidly, eyes flittering towards the outer woods and a gulp rolling down his throat that he prayed wasn't ridiculously noticeable. "All the time?" he repeated, giving her a shaky smile. "Ya mean like, just this past week."

"Still an awful lot fer someone t' just start doin'," she countered.

He frowned, looking at their waiting faces and waving his hands in front of him. "Look, I'm just lookin' fer plants 'n whatnot. I'm just…" he hesitated, forcing back a sudden urge to _scream_ at them about the wonderful secret he'd found to put this interrogation to rest, taking a steadying breath. "Just stressed out," he finally finished. "Don't wanna take it out on no one so I walk, all right? 'Sides, I ain't even done it in a few days. Didn't realize I was committin' a damn crime."

Karen narrowed her eyes, brown gleaming with suspicion. "No one said that, Ken," she reminded him.

Kenny looked between her and their mother, shoulders slumping. This was hard. Much harder than he thought it'd be. Apparently, this was how he was when he got _antsy_ , having spent the last two days impatiently beating his head against the wall until he would find his way back out into the mulberries. He'd considered more than once just heading out in the dead of night, but knew that Karen slept light as they came, the sounds of a scooting chair from their kitchen enough to rouse her from a deep slumber. Last thing Ken needed was her cornering him with questions, he was liable to break if she got her damn pout on.

A sheepish expression wove its way across his face as he looked back at an expectant Token. "Sorry," he mumbled, reaching towards his beltline and snatching the heavy drawstring of coins from his waist. He sighed, sifting through currency and trying to keep his foot from bouncing anxiously. He needed out of here. There was way too much going on outside of his world that required attention he actually _wanted_ to give. Being stuck in here and knowing he was at the very least days away from his distraction was just agitating.

Token's gaze fleeted between Kenny's fumbling fingers and his family's concerned faces, his mouth twisting. He reached forward and tugged on Kenny's sleeve, getting his attention and jerking his head towards the door, grabbing his book and quill. Ken nearly protested before a stern look locked on him and he sighed, following Token's lead as the two of them headed out of the shop. Kenny cringed at the door closing just a tad too hard behind him, hearing the straining of old maple and knowing that it was bound to give way one of these days.

Token turned and faced him, arms crossed and his lecturing stance dropping in lieu of concern. "Ken, what the hell is going on?" he asked, forcing his voice to soften from its irritation at Kenny's well-known stubborn streak.

"I dunno what you mean, I'm just overworked," Kenny shrugged, placing his eyes back towards his bag. He recoiled as it was taken from his palm, left holding five haithins as Token kept the purse clutched in his fingers.

"Dude, come _on_ ," he insisted. " _Something_ is up."

"I've just been distracted-"

"No, not that," he shook his head, Kenny blinking at him slowly. "It's something you don't wanna talk about with them," he gestured towards the shop window. Kenny paused, brow crinkling in frustration. He didn't need this right now, he just needed to get back to work. Token stopped him before he argued, "Don't try to say there's nothing happening. I know it, Wendy knows it, Clyde knows it. Wouldn't be surprised if Fatass knows it, too, but you know how sympathetic he gets," he rolled his eyes. "Just tell me."

Ken slumped, back falling against the stone wall. Tiptoeing got him nowhere it seemed, not with the four of them. He should've known better. But Token was the _last_ person he wanted to have this conversation with. Dark eyes pled a bit too well, however, and Kenny let out a long groan, running his hand down over his face. Bright blue became locked on the cobblestone walkway with sparse blades of grass doing their damnedest to meet the sun. "There's too many of us," he mumbled.

"What?" he squinted.

"My family. There's too fucking many of us. I'm gonna run out of money," he muttered. "I ain't got that much in my savings, and I don't know if I'm gonna make more sales this summer or not. We gotta eat, but I don't make much on damn simple repairs."

Token winced, "I'm telling you, you _need_ to up your prices. I know it sucks, but you have to take care of you before anyone else," he gestured out into the town. "They're not sticking their necks out for you, why should you extend them courtesy?"

"Because I'm not a prick?" he scoffed. "Token, it just ain't that simple. My stuff isn't essential until it's literally falling apart. If I keep it low, I can at least get a few small orders a week. If I'm just waitin' fer their damn pants t' fall off, I'll go whole seasons with nothin' but newborn and accident shit."

Token took a long breath, nodding along with his words. Made sense. Too much sense for comfort in a way. "Well, if you're not going to up prices, then you need to expand your market."

Kenny's face fell flat, irritation spiking in his chest. "Expand to _who_? I s'posed t' make dresses for people's _cats_ or what?"

He shook his head. "No, but if you can make up a few samples, we could send them out to cities and maybe work some outside attention. Whoever you send the dresses to will take a bigger cut of the profit, but you'll still be making some extra money." Kenny looked down at the ground once again, contemplating the arrangement. It sounded like a decent enough idea, but he also knew he couldn't afford to take an unfulfilled risk. "It'd sell," Token assured him, reading the self-doubt slamming into him. "Ken, I've _seen_ city clothes. They try to churn them out too fast to keep up and they all look the same and shoddy as shit. You'd have a professional advantage that you can't get here. Everyone's used to your work in this damn town."

"How many city people are gonna wanna buy _mountain people_ clothes?" he rolled his eyes. He'd seen travelers passing through with ornate gowns and tunics, people that looked terrified to have to be passing through such "poor" country. A part of him highly doubted they would be all-too-enthralled with the prospect of owning themselves a genuine tiretain harvestman's tunic.

Token shrugged, bouncing Kenny's change bag in his hand. "It was just a suggestion. You never know what'll be in fashion in a city. It's gonna come down to this: Either you take the chance, you up your prices, or your family goes hungry. You have to choose one of them, Ken."

Kenny let out an annoyed huff. "Well, if my dad keels over from too much ale that'd solve the problem, too."

He nodded, "I'm sure, but until that happens, you have to figure out something. I know I'm pissing you off here, but I _can_ help."

"You don't need t' do that," Ken frowned. "They're my responsibility, not yours-"

"No, they're _not_ ," Token cut him off, scowling. "Ken, _none_ of them are your responsibility. _All of you_ are adults. Your only responsibility is you. If anyone should be taking care of your family, it's your parents. You shouldn't have to deal with this."

Teeth gritting, he let out a long, angry breath. "I'm the only one with any kinda training, Token. _Someone_ has t' make sure we goddamn eat."

"It's not fair that you're the one running it, though."

"Well… that's life," he said, voice falling flat. "Maybe not fer yer family, maybe not for _city_ people. But fer the rest of us, that's just how it is. Ya take care of yer own, that's all that matters."

Token sighed, fingers moving under the cotton bag, feeling small coins sifting between the webbing of his hand. "No. Most people get _away_ from their families. Especially once they have their own shop," he gestured towards his door. "A pittance of help here and there can go to their parents or whoever, sure. But remember: I communicate with _everyone_ in this town, I've _seen_ how people grow and branch off, so don't lecture me on family dynamics. My situation is different, sure, but I'm not blind."

Kenny scoffed, "Ya sure? Yer eyes don't seem t' see how damn skinny my family is."

"Well if your _dad_ would stop-"

A palm held up halted him, Kenny shaking his head. "He has an… _allowance_ ," he phrased carefully. It'd been a few months' worth of finding a method, but he and his mother had devised a system to give him _just_ enough so that he wouldn't ask questions while hiding the rest between different stashes. It'd been taken from a budget she'd set for their home taxes, the two of them finding the best ways to stagger their payments but keep the roof over their heads. Kenny couldn't help but wonder, however, if one day they were just going to all get their beds and move them into his shop to cut the costs entirely. "We've cut every corner we can. Ma doesn't buy 'er hobby stuff no more. Me n' Kev share goddamn clothes," he gestured to the tunic hanging loosely from being stretched over Kevin's stocky frame. "Kare's been readin' the same goddamn books since she was fifteen. We're doin' what we can."

Token stared blankly, eyes drifting back to the faded fabric that seemed _detrimental_ for someone in Kenny's line of work to be sporting. He sighed, just tired and almost _depressed_ with sympathy. He knew better though, knew that handing Kenny a bounty of coins for "no reason" would lead to them being thrown viciously at his face. He reached forward, snatching the five golden discs from his fingers and dropping four into his bag, handing it back with a stern face. Kenny squinted, taking the pouch and awaiting explanation. "I'm bringing the cushion tonight," he informed him. "Fabric cost us eight haithins, only fair you charge that much to work with it."

"Token…" he warned.

He shrugged, shoving the coin into his pocket. "Even trade, your taxes are paid."

"Don't fuckin' pull this with me," he grimaced.

Token returned the expression, "Pull _what_? Exchanging service for pay? Pretty sure that's the only way we can operate at all. No one is trying to make you _less of a man_ or whatever the _fuck_ you seem the think anyone who offers help is doing."

"I don't need _charity_ ," he hissed. "If I did, I'd go t' the fuckin' andell."

"No," he snapped. " _Charity_ isn't _me_ helping you. Charity would be these other people who don't give you the _time of day_ any other time helping you," he gestured out towards the town. "You're fucking right, _I_ can afford a mark-up. I'd be a real piece of _shit_ if I just fucking stood here while you're scrimping for bread, Ken. If _you_ just… came into money, wouldn't _you_ fucking push it off onto other people when you could?"

Kenny's lips pursed, eyes dropping to the jingling bag in his palm. It was a fool's dream, and he knew it. But never could he deny the farfetched idea of being hired by someone with wealth beyond imagination; tailoring for _royalty_ and having more than he knew what to do with. He'd throw it into the streets, pay off others' debts. He'd get his family their own homes, get his mother her own space so she could be safe and have his brother and sister moved _far_ from the wrath of their father. "It's different," he muttered.

"How?"

"You ain't lived like this, that's how," blue eyes flickered back up exhaustedly. "You goddamn _pity us_. Me n' Wends n' Clyde. All of us. You have that fuckin'… _look_."

Token rolled his eyes, "How do you _expect me_ to look at you when you're all figuring out if you can afford your damn houses? Want me to sing and dance a little jig for you? Should I cry?"

He couldn't help a tiny smirk, "Nah. Leave that'n t' Clyde." Token snorted in agreement and they both settled from the tension riding their spines, looking back at each other as Kenny's face fell again. "No. There's just a difference. There's pity when ya _understand_ , and just… _obligation_ pity."

He let out a small huff of air through his nose, shaking his head. "This isn't obligation. If it was, you'd have a lot more customers. And it's not pity. Pity is for people who can't or won't help themselves out of their situation. You can, you're just refusing to do so. Tavin teaches sympathy. Completely different."

"Tavin also teaches t' let yer enemies be trampled t' death by cattle so I think there's some leeway," he drawled.

He shrugged, "Would it _really_ be so bad to watch Cartman get stomped by a cow?"

"Taken down by his own kind. How fitting," Kenny smirked.

Token laughed, nodding along. He met his stare again, offering him a sad smile. "Will you at least _consider_ making some outfits to be sent out? I'll cover the cost of the first few if you think it's such a risk." He held up his hand as Kenny began to frown, "We'll work out a system where you can pay me back over time if that'll make you feel better. But you aren't going to be saving your family's situation just treading water here, Ken. Your damn charisma can only take you so far with the same people. Isn't it at least worth a _try_?"

His hand came up, sheepishly rubbing along his arm. "Maybe. I don't know. I'll hafta think about it."

He nodded, stepping back. "Do so. I gotta keep moving, but just keep in mind, there's way more out there than just this place."

Kenny's eyes flickered to the distant trees and he nodded slowly. "Trust me, I know. Rest of the world is just really fucking… different."

"That's what makes it better than Canirem. Makes it a great opportunity," he assured him. "Don't get stuck here just hemming the same pants over and over. That's a waste of a life. You said you wanted to get out. Expanding your market is a great first step," he advised, turning on his heel and making way towards the line of shops beyond Kenny's property.

Kenny watched after him with a sigh, leaning back against the wall and tilting his head to rest on the door frame. A part of him knew he should be _leaping_ for such a chance, regardless of the risks it entailed. He wanted more than _anything_ to branch out, find new things, be involved in more than clothes and alehouses. But…

He had a family. One that _needed_ his help. One that couldn't exactly afford for him to use their nicest cloth for outfits that might just sit in a city marketplace for years on end and leave them short for a local who needed the same material. It was worrying, it was stressful. It was business. Risks were better left where he could see them, something close to home that he could rectify should it go awry. Something _somewhat_ within his control.

Blue eyes were drawn back towards the woods, and a shaking breath rattled his chest. Maybe. But even risks taken just beyond his doorstep were in entirely different worlds, exceeded his comprehension and imagination as to what they could possibly hold. Maybe it didn't matter whether the chance was just attempting a new design for a local or throwing his all into another town's merchandise. Maybe he had the same level of control no matter _what_ he did. And that was terrifying. Here in his walls, he had control, shaky as it was at times. His dictation was law, his methods were _everyone's_ methods aside from the few side-stepping situations he had to endure. But that was life in a nutshell as far as he could tell. _Everyone_ had to make those sacrifices to maintain order.

But then again, some people could go farther, they could completely disregard _proper_ methodology and risk everything they had just so they could get a _taste_ of something different. His eyes softened, lingering on swaying maple trees in the distance.

The benefit could be substantial, he could get exactly what he was hoping for. But, he could also do nothing but waste time and resources…

Kenny paused, frowning. Was that really so _terrible_ a consequence? A few things to make up the difference for in the future? This wasn't putting his _life_ on the line, maybe just his reputation in a city he'd probably never go near.

He groaned, rubbing his eyes with his forefinger and thumb, shaking his head. Just too much at once. Too much work for not enough pay off. Too much financial worry for so simple a life. Too much _thought_ for a profession where more than half his shift was spent daydreaming through mindless repetition. But, he had to do _something_. This bare minimum shit wasn't going to cut it this time around, he couldn't count on another weather phenomenon to up his order intake. He couldn't damn himself against the town, they'd go under for sure. He supposed that only left him with one option.

Token was right. Pity was for the people who refused to help themselves. Kenny took a long breath, standing back up off the doorframe and lingering on the woods for one more moment before moving to head back into his shop. His head was whirling, mentally locating his shoddy design books and coordinating fabrics, the timeframe he had between his current orders to finagle an extra project or two. It was a longshot, but it was a grasp for _something_. After all, pity was for people like Stuart and Carol McCormick.

Not for Kenny. Not anymore.


	16. On'naleka's Shine

Kyle held back a pained flinch, feeling the bored toe of the fateri behind him yet again smashing his wing against the carved bench. His eyes tried to remain forward, vaguely hearing the mother murmuring under her breath yet again in distraction to tell her child to settle. Not that it mattered, fateri were always going to be restless during _hanail_. It was too long for them to care to pay attention more than a few minutes at a time. It wasn't relevant enough to them yet for more than a respectful quietness to go alongside their boredom and the tendency to find _anything_ to distract them from the drawn-out lessons of the kiantri.

Unfortunately, in Kyle's case, his neighbor's fateri just happened to pick his wings as their source of amusement.

He made a disgruntled face, interlaced fingers in his lap with his palms facing upwards towards Tav'nokana's beaming figure, giving a subtle twitch at yet another toeing. A sharp jab of an elbow to his arm grabbed his attention, gaze fleeting over to his mother sitting next to him giving him a warning look to drop the frustrated expression. He pouted, eyes falling back to the kiantri pacing before rows of faterianea. Figures he'd be getting more of a lecture than the child abusing his poor wings. It certainly wasn't unusual, Sheila had spent all his and Ike's lives demanding her sons be the prime example of solemn faith in the kana'fale, the envy of all her friends.

Kyle often wondered if the fateri like the one seated behind him endured the same level of lectures he used to get for his wandering attention span when he was younger. If they _also_ got sent to bed without supper or had their sketchbooks or whatever kept their attention snatched away for a week if they so much as stretched their wings loud enough for a seated neighbor to hear. It'd been a long time since he'd considered such punishments _unfair_ , knowing well enough by now just how important the weekly hanail was, but that didn't stop him from wishing some of the more disruptive members of the audience would have their own forms of suffering.

This was the one place he _had_ in the burrow, the one place he felt connected to his people and filled with solace. No one shoved him here, no one made faces or wondered _aloud_ just what it was he was trying to accomplish. No, here, they were linked in quiet contemplation on their lessons. Kyle considered it the one time everyone else shared his nederi, that they all came out of the kana'fale with a newfound knowledge and understanding, even when touching upon the same stories some of them had heard countless times throughout their lives. It was, perhaps, the only time that Kyle could possibly stand being cooped up.

Today, however, he was not so fortunate to find a sense of inner peace.

He'd been antsy for days, limiting his time on the outside to gathering his nimikal'e and plant studies before hurrying back inside to avoid too much suspicion. It was driving him crazy, spending the last four days mostly huddled up in the toli'fale hiding away from a certain _other_ faterian that was bent on either engaging him or antagonizing him, Kyle couldn't be all that sure either way. Tweek and Becca had, albeit timidly, all but banished Grego'ri from their space when Kyle was present, not willing to risk their limited materials being damaged in the event of another fight. That more than worked for Kyle, able to relax himself at least a tad when in their secluded little hideaway without the ever-looming threat of Grego'ri's fat mouth.

It certainly didn't stop him from hating his self-inflicted punishment, though. He wanted to spend his time back among the trees that _weren't_ kept alive through magic, the ones that, like him, just wanted to keep stretching towards the sky. He wanted to finally get back to compiling his sketchbook of taken trinkets. He wanted to talk to Kenny again, to get some more notes and hear more of his stories. He wanted, he wanted, he _wanted_.

' _It's for the best,'_ he thought to himself once again, a constant mantra he'd forced himself to adapt. _'One more day. Just one more.'_

A strong voice once more caught his attention from his anxious self-pity, eyes drawn back to the kiantri pacing along the front of the kana'fale, the glimmer of glass walls sparking and catching against his pale, wrinkled face as he moved. Kyle often wondered how it was his voice rose so easily among the rows of spectators, how a soft-spoken man boomed with authority and glittering eyes of excitement upon retelling the same old stories. He wondered, why didn't _everyone_ looked so stimulated with their tasks in life? Why Stan went about his training dutifully, but tiredly. Why Tweek and Becca ducked into themselves with such uncertainty as to their success. Why he himself _questioned_ why he was put where he was. It would be such a better world, Kyle thought, if they _all_ could share the enthusiasm their kiantri had for their separate nederis.

"Mellicia tells us," the kiantri's timbre rose as he gestured to Her figure standing on the far-left end of the towering figures, "to mind what you own." Kyle's sight followed his gesture, a long breath expanding his lungs at the woman with the shower of curls falling down Her waist and a bracelet of daisies crawling up Her left wrist. The stem sprung from Her skin, weaving between thin fingers and petals reaching towards the skin of Her cheek. "What you have in your home, and what you have in yourself," the man continued. "What nature gives and what it will take if you do not heed its warnings."

Kyle could feel his mother's eyes flickering towards him, ignoring the emphasis she tried so desperately to shove into him every instance Mellicia was mentioned. Not that it mattered, she did that with _each_ figure, hoping _one of them_ would be good enough for Kyle to relate to and heed the lessons of his people.

He couldn't exactly say he _didn't_ , just not as narrowly as she may have wished. Mellicia, after all, taught them to _appreciate_ nature. The kiantri insisted this applied to merely what kept them alive and the nature of their magics that kept them a thriving species, but Kyle couldn't find it in himself to see it so plainly. As far as he was concerned, he was the _only_ one of their tribe attempting any _true_ appreciation of Her blessings by not receiving its benefits under only false, magical doings. She was reverence, the reminder that life is in one's own hands. And that was the goal, to take his talents in the direction he felt best suited his people, find what She'd left to be discovered and to relish in it.

Kyle heaved a quiet sigh. He could tell himself that all he wanted, wouldn't exactly sway any opinion but his own. He doubted even the restless fateri behind him would buy into his reasoning.

"-to share with us the tale of our _pa'lose_ , our fater'kopiavisitor would like to speak," the kiantri's voice echoed back into Kyle's attention span. The word sent a roar of bitterness down his spine, keen eye catching movement from the edge of the glass walls and seeing Grego'ri strutting to the center of the floor by the kiantri's side. He suppressed a long groan of derision, hating seeing him in so coveted a position in _his_ kana'fale.

Grego'ri gave a soft smile and a nod to the kiantri, "Thank you, Mal'tene."

Kyle could feel a silent tension resonating throughout the kana'fale, a small smirk landing on his lips. He couldn't say he was disappointed that _everyone_ took issue with the outsider standing in front of them as though he had the divine right to do so. Why he was the only one to his knowledge that'd been lectured on respecting the fater'kopia, however, he wondered if he'd ever know.

"When the long cold had finally ceased," Grego'ri started, "and the foragers could again fill your home with the seeds you needed, so ended the pa'lose of _Beina_."

Kyle rolled his eyes, catching glances with Ike next to him sharing the same expression. Far too pretentious sounding for someone so apparently ignorant of their social standing.

"With Beina's time coming to a close with the final thaw, the time has come to denote this pa'lose's star," Grego'ri said. A ripple of excitement swept through the rows of benches, Ike and Kyle looking around to see their people sitting up at attention with such an anticipated mention.

" _Took him long enough,"_ Ike muttered, getting an agreeing nod from his brother. The last thaw had been nearly a month and a half before, their new pa'lose was already in full swing without their designated _tav'deri_. With their tribe's own resident star seeker, their own _tav'ia,_ passing nearly ten pa'loses before Kyle's birth, the kiantri and his _naveaichi_ council had taken on the intricate burden of tav'deri declaration. None of them knew quite _how_ it was done, but the fater'talei had made do with the few records the tav'ia had left for them, still paying respects to whomever had been chosen until the next thaw. Apparently, it seemed, with _Grego'ri's_ impromptu appearance before the choosing had begun, the duty, no, the _honor_ had been bestowed onto _him_.

Kyle's wings stiffened in frustration at the notion, not registering any more of the fateri's impatient toe-touches as they looked around, wondering what had their parents and neighbors so excited all of a sudden.

Grego'ri walked back off the center of the floor, grasping a large scroll standing just over half his height, and strutting back into place. Hazel eyes swept across the crowd before him, an almost relieved breath leaving his nose at how the tension seemed to die down with his announcement. He'd half-expected a riot of sorts, to be chased out for _daring_ to take on a role so very special to their people. Apparently, such wasn't the case, he figured they were far too busy imagining the festivities to take place upon the new tav'deri naming to worry too much about the schematics. He clicked his tongue, wings flitting behind him in thought as he scanned around the hall, finding the faces he was looking for and grinning widely.

"Kylenove'ia! Stante'ri! Maybe you could both assist me?" he offered, gaze darting between them both. Stan jerked into attention at his name, half-awoken from his utter boredom of hanail and standing up, ignoring the beaming grin of his father next to him with a barely concealed eye roll. Kyle couldn't be bothered to follow suit so soon, too _shocked_ hearing his name being so loudly called in the kana'fale by anyone but the kiantri. Called by _him_ of all faterian.

"Kylenove'ia!" his mother hissed, placing another well-executed elbow into his arm and breaking him from his stupefied trance.

He glanced at her, flinching at the pure _death_ seeping from her stare for _daring_ to risk embarrassing her in front of the entire village. Kyle groaned under his breath, managing a stealthy kick to Ike's shin at his stifled cackles as he moved past. Stan stopped by his bench to wait for him, and Kyle could catch the mix of warning and worry on his face at the possibility of having to stop a full-out brawl in the middle of their damn temple. Kyle forced a reassuring grin at him for a fraction of a moment before unable to keep up the charade, but it was enough for Stan's shoulders to sink with slight ease. If there was one thing Kyle had always been, it was respectful of _these_ customs. As far as Stan figured, the last thing Kyle wanted was to no longer receive the privileges of the kiantri. Going head-to-head with the fater'kopia _here_ was a definite possible reason for taking those from him.

They made way down the middle of the row together, both of them fighting to keep an aggravated glare from their faces at Grego'ri's smug appearance amid their people excitedly mumbling with one another.

' _A half-assed attempt at a truce,'_ Stan thought.

' _He's just doing this to_ _ **embarrass me further**_ _,'_ Kyle's own mind screamed in utter frustration. _'He's gonna do something. He's gonna make them hate me even more and then someone will fucking hit me and I'll break a statue and I'll be_ _ **banned**_ _from the kana'fale and I won't have any fucking hope of the kiantri letting me keep going outside and I'll never hear another hanail again and-'_ he was stopped abruptly with Stan subtly hitting his arm with the back of his hand, glancing up at him and cringing. Stan knew well enough when he was launching into anxiety-riddled inner quandaries, he knew by now he really should stop questioning Stan's ability to do so.

Stan leaned down towards him as they stepped further, "Deep breath," he said softly. "We'll do whatever this is, get out of here, then go draw his face on one of the walls and pelt it with rocks."

"I'd rather shoot it," Kyle murmured with a small smirk.

Stan snorted and nodded, "Sounds good."

Grego'ri's grin kept strong as they stepped up in front of him, gesturing to his scroll. "Would you two kindly hold this up for me?"

They glanced at each other before heaving quick sighs and moving to do as told, Grego'ri stopping them with a quick "bup bup bup!" They paused, frowning and he cleared his throat. "Kylenov-" he stopped short with a dark glare from the shorter and held up his hand in a half-assed sorry expression. "Kyle," he corrected. "Would _you_ please be the one to unfurl it? I just don't-"

"Want my dirty _treagi_ hands to rip it, yeah, I get it," Stan scoffed, Kyle shooting him a look of surprise as they slowly traded places. Stan gave him a small shrug. He supposed he couldn't help it. If Kyle hated him, he had somewhat of an obligation to hate him, too. Or at least that's what he was going with.

Grego'ri frowned as they hefted the scroll between them off the ground. "No, Kyle just has far more _experience_ handling ancient texts than you do, Stante'ri."

"Stan," Kyle corrected with a huff, fingers delicately tracing along the edges of the scroll, stepping backwards as he carefully unraveled the parchment. A sick part of him wanted to "trip" over himself, rip it in half and hopefully watch Grego'ri collapse onto the floor in the broken sobs of a traumatized scholar.

He bit his cheek, knowing that that's _exactly_ how he'd react if anyone found _his_ stash of buried aikopia texts and destroyed them. He supposed he couldn't do that to another being, tempting as it was.

Kyle tilted his head and glanced at the image he was unrolling, listening to the crisp crinkle of the material as the kana'fale fell quiet, all of them awestruck staring at a large, inked scroll speckled with different colored dots and interweaving lines between them with names and numbers. Large circles encompassed clusters of them, Kyle blinking at the names of the last four centuries appearing along the edge of four orbs as his fingers finally came to the edge of the roll.

Grego'ri caught his enraptured gaze, shoulders bobbing in a small laugh. He probably looked the damn same the first time he'd been permitted to gaze upon the scroll. It was highly _irregular_ for those outside of their circle to be able to gaze at the hard work of their ancestors; not _banned_ , just not typical, as they so rarely handled the texts with the trained care needed for the fragile material. But, he figured, there was no better way to earn _some_ line of respect among the fater'talei than with a coveted glimpse of their past, and their future.

He stepped up in front of Kyle, gracefully swooping his arm up to gesture to a section outlined in blueberry purple, keeping his fingerprint from the parchment as he followed the length of the orbital arc. "This," he started, voice rising back to echo among the kana'fale, "is our _galein,_ the one of _Ta'nue_. Ta'nue is the largest _tav_ in this galein." He pointed to a star encompassed in a bold red diamond. He brought his hands back, folding them in front of him and smiling. "Ta'nue is the fateri of loneliness, strengthened by the personal guidance of _Naverie_ ," he gestured to Her statue standing above them all, arms tucked close against Her body and head tilting down just slightly below Her brethren and Her face partially concealed through carved loose strands of shoulder-length hair. "Through Naverie's light, Ta'nue found not loneliness as her mother did with the loss of her father, but self-assuredness," he clenched his fist in emphasis. "Naverie showed Ta'nue the way to happiness, that bettering herself on her own made her stronger for her own people, and she led her tribe through the depths of the galein prior and the bitter cold that stretched for so long, the time of three pa'loses."

Kyle grimaced with the story, as he always did, shoulders sinking. He couldn't imagine a winter lasting so long, how his people could ever fare if they were faced with such a horrid stretch of time.

Grego'ri stepped back beside of him, placing a hand on Kyle's shoulder that tensed him immediately, looking back with a mix of bewilderment and disgust at so casual a touch from the vagrant. "In the time of Ta'nue, her people learned one thing…," he said slowly. "To trust independence. To _value it_ ," he stressed, squeezing Kyle's shoulder lightly before releasing him and stepping back in front of his scroll. Kyle blinked, confused and wanting to shout for clarification as to what he was even _doing_. "In our galein, with her as our brightest tav in our time, we _also_ must learn from her bravery and strength. We mustn't forget her lessons, lest we forget the faterian who made us all who we are."

Kyle and Stan exchanged another glance, Kyle feeling a strange wave of relief seeing his naichi just as utterly baffled as he was with that brief interaction. He tilted his head back to look at Grego'ri, eyes narrowing the slightest in suspicion. What was he _up to?_

"As such," he continued prattling on, "each tav'deri of this galein falls in line with Ta'nue and her journey. We have passed the time of Beina, who taught us all the value of benevolence, of learning to put those in your community before yourself and trust in your own abilities to do what's best for them _and_ yourself."

Kyle couldn't help the subtle scoff falling from his lips. He'd be hard-pressed to point out too many people in his tribe who he could say without a doubt exhibited Beina's lessons drilled into them throughout the duration of last pa'lose, at least towards him.

"This pa'lose, we've moved three from Beina towards the North, on the edge of our galein as we have been for most of our lifetimes," he gestured towards the crowd watching him intently. His finger moved to point towards his destination, landing on a small spatter halfway between North and East on the chart. The tav'deri of this time is _On'naleka_ ," he announced, bringing his hand back down. "Does anyone know just _who_ On'naleka is?"

There was silence, a few parents pinching the wings of their children to try to get them to attempt an answer. Kyle raised his brow, looking at his tribe in a rush of confusion and a slight anger. Did _none_ of them listen to the kiantri's stories? Did only a select _few_ resonate with them and deserve keeping in mind? He looked back at the chart, picking out what names he could read from his awkwardly angled position and twisting his lips. Okay, _he_ didn't remember all of them right away either, but he had enough stories and knowledge that he had to stow away for an excuse. He was usually overloaded with information, few in the crowd could tout the same tune.

"Kyle?" Grego'ri asked, Kyle's head snapping over to look at him and see that smug little grin right back and plastered on his face. "Do _you_?"

Kyle frowned, straightening up and taking a long breath. Was this a challenge? Was it a chance of humiliation if he had names and stories mixed up? Green eyes flittered to the kiantri standing off to the side, goading him on with his soft smile and a simple nod of permission to proceed. He gulped, feeling two feet tall with his people's attention turned on him, the mere damn scroll holder. "Uh. He… led his tribe in the wrong direction of their usual path," he started, trying to stop his fingers from tensing anxiously around the parchment between them. "He told them he sensed there was something better on the other side of the mountains. The tribe split into two groups. The one who went their usual way were killed in a storm, while those who trusted him found fertile land and a place hidden from the storm travelling their way."

Grego'ri nodded, tapping his index and middle fingers together towards him encouragingly, "Go on…"

He cringed, trying to piece together a thousand mixed messages of their history without overwhelming himself. "Um... They lived and… and the storm passed many nights later. When they came out of hiding, the land was filled with fruit. On'naleka was declared a faterian of the gods for leading them off their path to a new and better home."

Grego'ri smirked, " _What_ god?"

_And there it was._

He took a long breath and tensed his shoulders, wings bristling. "Tetima."

"Exactly!" he clapped his hands together and gave him an approving nod before turning back to the crowd. "On'naleka showed his people something important: Intuitiveness. Sometimes, you _have_ to do what you feel right if it's for the benefit of your tribe, even when not everyone agrees with you."

Kyle blinked, looking from him to the kiantri, who grinned and shrugged, gesturing for him to continue listening to Grego'ri.

"We all know the importance of Gameral, how He presents us each with choices, with two paths to follow. More often than not, we steer in Kilpae's path, yes?" he asked, looking to a sea of nodding heads. " _But_ , She is not the _only_ option, is She? She keeps us safe as a community, keeps us bound in Tav'nokana's thread that keeps us woven together. We consider Her the default, don't we?" He paused, giving another glance towards Kyle's increasingly marred expression. "But Kilpae doesn't always have the answers," he said softly, turning back to the group. "Sometimes, someone has to make the harder choice, someone has to follow instinct like On'naleka for the good of not only the tribe, but knowing that it betters themselves as it did Ta'nue.

"We worry about those choices, we think they're foolish and dangerous. But are they? Long ago, did not one kiantri used their intuitiveness to make this mountain your home? Or the treagi," he motioned towards Stan staring at him with wide eyes, "do they not rely on their instincts and rush _towards_ danger for your betterment? Your safety? On'naleka followed the guidance of Tetima and Her bravery, Her rash nature. He followed Her firethorn towards the other side of the mountains and kept his followers alive and thriving. We consider Tetima to be our last resort, our option for when times are harder. But, it does not need to be this way," he said, pointing towards Her proud figure.

The hair on the back of Kyle's neck prickled, feeling Her firethorn directed at his head. This felt terrifying, other-worldly, like the glass walls were closing in around him and caging him in for the tribe to jeer at. He wanted to leave, needed to get out in the open air and take a breath of fresh pine to remind himself that the smell of burning lavender and musty cave walls weren't all he had. That there was more than the eight eyes staring down at him from their altar and the hundreds in front of him. _'Tav'nokana, is he doing this to_ torture _me?!'_ he thought.

"Tetima is there when we need Her," Grego'ri continued, apparently ignorant to Kyle's inner turmoil. "And we _do_ need Her. Not all the time, no. Not every moment of every day. But we do need Her to remind us of how brilliant we can all be if we step just a tad to the side, if we ask questions and _try_ to find new ways to help one another. I believe this is a virtue that… many, _many_ tribes have neglected," he said, a somberness seeping into his timbre. "Contentedness is good for a while, but intuition and _risk_ takes tribes beyond what they once thought possible. It takes inner strength, it takes both Tetima and Naverie to get there, but it's worth it. And because of that, On'naleka, as this pa'lose's tav'deri, will guide you to bettering the fater'talei."

Excited and confused murmurs spurned at once at the prospect of lessons and the festival to be had. Kyle stood in his place, shaking, wondering just what kind of fallout he was going to walk into if long-held group mentality took hold and not only was On'naleka dismissed as someone who just got lucky once, but he would find himself _deeper_ in trouble. He looked back at the kiantri, desperate for him to give him _some_ kind of reprieve. A kind word, a pat on the head, _anything._

The kiantri stared back, biting his lip at how nerve-wracked the young faterian looked, even from afar. He'd figured Grego'ri's announcement would get to him on some level, but he hadn't expected _fear_. He'd expected Kyle would _relish_ in such a celebration of the things he excelled at. He took a deep breath, knowing Kyle couldn't leave the kana'fale to go outside without arousing more questions than need-be. That was the absolute last thing he needed. Quietly, he stepped forward towards the three at the front of the room, back straight and sorrow on his face for encouraging Grego'ri to so directly involve Kyle in this announcement.

"Kylenove'ia," he said under the noise of their people and gently grabbing his side of the parchment, "go to my study and calm down."

Kyle nodded in silent thanks and turned immediately, heading towards the western side of the hall and out of sight of a few eyes of the crowd. He was sure his family was part of that equation and the three he'd left behind, but he couldn't be bothered. He just kept hurrying, wings behind him snapping in impatience to try to get him to his seclusion quicker.

Why did he feel so _awful_? He couldn't pinpoint it. It felt surreal, like Grego'ri had _deliberately_ chosen On'naleka, or just randomly picked one of the other fateri of Tetima to get under his skin.

Finally, he made it down the stretch of hall, all-but-bursting into the kiantri's study and taking loud, gasping breaths, legs wobbling as he made way into the room he was oh-so-familiar with. His fingers raked up through his hair, heart pounding and breathing obnoxiously vocal. He felt dizzy, his eyes blurring. Was it tears? He didn't think so, but he couldn't tell. He just wanted to run or lie down or _something_. His wings kept twitching, nails delving into his scalp.

He opted to find the corner between one of the kiantri's shelves and the wall, sliding down into the tight angle and curling up, continuing to hold his head and fight for air. Of _all_ places for this to happen, of all the things he'd done in his life that _should've_ provoked this kind of reaction… it had to be here. It had to be in his fucking temple, surrounded by gods that watched him every step of the way and a mass of people that loved to spend their time after hanail gossiping. He could only _imagine_ what they would be saying if they saw him run off, if they also made an immediate connection with that fucking speech.

Groaning, he ducked down deeper, forehead against his knees and his breath rebounding off his legs in hot bursts. He just wanted to sneak out of here, fly out of this fucking burrow, and stay outside until it was dark and he could come back in with no one stopping him. He wanted his books and his pen, he wanted to _catalogue_. The word brought another groan from his aching chest. He wanted to just talk to Kenny, get lost in _his_ world and forget about his own for a while. He felt so fucking _trapped_.

A soft knock at the door made him flinch, curling in tighter. If it was the kiantri, he was stuck having another lesson about being strong. If it was Stan, he'd be dealing with poking and prodding about what was wrong and shitty jokes trying and failing to lighten the tension.

If it was his mother, he was screwed.

The door creaked open, Kyle managing only a peeking glance and letting out a loud sound of derision at Grego'ri stepping in and closing the door, his scroll held lightly to his side. "Get _out_ ," he managed to say, voice cracking.

Grego'ri frowned, eyes drooping with something of sympathy. "Kyle, are you all right?" he asked.

"Great. Now _leave_!" he demanded.

"You're shaking," he observed, cautiously stepping towards him. He wasn't willing to deal with another punch to the jaw, but he couldn't deny that this plan had backfired beyond what he'd believed. There was too much responsibility he had in this to just saunter out and go about his day. Grego'ri took a long breath, running his fingers up through his hair. "I know exactly what you're thinking," he began. "And no. On'naleka was not chosen because of _you_."

Kyle bit his lip, lifting his head only enough to blearily see him over the fine hairs of his arm. "I don't believe you."

"Believe what you want, Kyle, but it was tradition that chose him, not you," he said, shaking his head. "Don't think yourself so important I would completely violate my duties just to make you feel _special._ "

"Then why did you make _me_ tell the story?" Kyle bit.

He shrugged, "I was tired of talking."

"I find _that_ hard to believe," he scoffed.

Grego'ri couldn't help but let out a small chuckle. "All right, fine. It was because I figured hearing the full story from one of their own would make your people believe in it more fully."

Kyle frowned, still shaking but managing to lift his head at last. "Really? You think they give a _fuck_ what I spout out?"

He shrugged once more, "If it's about something they all find important, like their tav'deri, then yes. When you're ranting on your plant samples or what it's like outside? No. They don't care. Which, that's their loss." His foot slid forward, watching Kyle carefully for a sign of aggression and finding none, just frustration and isolation. Taking a long breath, he kept moving forward, turning and sliding down to sit with him on the floor, ignoring Kyle backing away from any contact as though he were made of tankeri. "I'm sorry for the… inconvenience of the stars," he said.

"They aren't the inconvenience, you are," he muttered. "Why'd they let _you_ pick our tav'deri anyway?"

He snorted, "It's my nederi, Kyle. And your poor kiantri didn't know how to do it, that's the whole reason I've stayed here this long."

"To insult my leader?" he frowned.

"No, to teach someone how to do the job properly," he smirked. "Your kiantri asked if I could stay until the birth of the next tav'ia, or at least make records for only them to see upon their nederi training. I told him I'll stay until whichever is done first. Not many new fateri popping about, that's for sure."

Kyle shrugged, "Most families already have their two fateri, so they can't."

"Ugh, horrid practice," Grego'ri shuddered, getting a sharp glare from Kyle. He frowned back, "What?"

"We have _limited range of the mountain_ , Asshole," he scoffed. "We have to have enough room in all the homes, and they fit _four_ faterian apiece. If we stretch our land farther, we'd lose food fields or we'd be too close to the tribe down the way and they hate us. Last thing we need is a territory conflict."

He nodded softly, "Makes sense. Doesn't make it a good practice, though, Kyle."

"It's… how we do things," he said, shoulders slumping. "Same as we always have."

"Like… everything else," Grego'ri finished, getting a small shrug out of him. "Then what better timing than to have On'naleka to look towards? You've all spent _years_ wallowing in the same pits of _compassion_ and _generosity_ for your pa'loses, Kyle. It's about time you all switched up, it's why you got skipped to his tav."

Kyle squinted, looking at him suspiciously. "Whaddya mean 'skipped'?"

Grego'ri smirked, taking his scroll and delicately unrolling it on the floor in front of them. He pointed back towards the curve where Beina rested, Kyle watching curiously. "Well, you finished Beina's time. The next three are _Ha'ren, Unam,_ and _Pa'lemska._ You know what they are?" Kyle shook his head, too worn out from his mini-breakdown to bother even trying. "Reflection, complacency, and practicality." He paused, taking a deep breath. "A tav'ia's job is to observe not only the stars, but the people they're with as well. If the tav'ia sees a trait being strong within a tribe, they find little need in revisiting the same lessons the tribe obviously knows and holds so dear. So, sometimes, tav'deri's get skipped throughout a galein until that trait seems to be slipping, and so we backtrack to declare them."

Kyle looked at the chart, observing the multiple thin scratch marks through multitudes of stars. He gestured towards one, "So, these are ones used already so they don't get used again by mistake?"

He nodded, "Precisely. A hundred years per tav cluster is sometimes hard to keep track of and keep straight, so we cross out names. Lazy method I suppose but you of all faterian know that you do what you can to stay efficient."

Glancing at the galein prior to their own, Kyle cocked his head. "And the ones left alone?" he pointed.

"Didn't seem needed to be used. We still tell their stories, make sure that who they are never gets lost. It seems simple, but it's honestly difficult to pinpoint just what it is a tribe needs. Well… _usually_. Your tribe… not so much."

"And what does _that_ mean?" he looked at him wryly.

He looked back and sighed, "It means your people are so stuck in their ways, they'll never change unless someone does something."

"They like it like that," Kyle said quietly, sitting back against the wall and leaning his head against the shelf beside him. "They're comfortable. They're _happy_. Trying to change them won't work, and shouldn't be tried. It'd be like robbing them of their home and dropping them outside the burrow."

"Your dream then?" he said with a somber smile, working on rolling his scroll back into form.

Kyle paused, heaving a heavy sigh. "I don't know. Yes. No. I love my people, regardless of how much they hate me."

Grego'ri shook his head. "They don't hate you, they fear what you can do."

He rolled his eyes, "The fuck is the difference?"

"Hate means they want you gone. Fearing you means they want you to do what's best for them, regardless of what they think you _might_ do." He sat back with him and scratched at his hair. "This sounds like I'm passing off blame, but I'm not, I'm telling the truth," he started cautiously. "I didn't want you up there during the announcement. Your kiantri asked me to call you up there… and Stante'ri so you would feel more comfortable."

Kyle groaned, " _Why_?"

"Because, he wants your people to see you as one of them and not just… the oddball who kind of hangs around," he shrugged. "Getting you up there where the revered stand could make you respected."

"Or loathed as the kiantri's favorite or something," he muttered.

Snorting, he replied, "Well, that _is_ a bit of the truth, isn't it?"

"Not if he put me through that," Kyle mumbled.

Grego'ri nodded solemnly. "Well… he had the best of intentions I'm more than sure. He's far too fond of your… let's call it a _relationship_ to want to upset you so much."

Kyle scoffed, "Fond? We _occasionally_ talk about nothing and he lets me practice some magics with him, but most of what he does is _lecture me_."

He titled his head, looking down at him with a cocked brow. "And _why_ is it you think he does that?"

"Sadistic pleasure?" he said dryly.

He smirked, "No, and I think you know that, too, Kyle. He's taken you as a pupil, it's rare for a kiantri to do that, trust me. I've seen enough. Most of the time they're there for support, but not often do they hand out privileges. And they _especially_ don't teach those who aren't next in line for their role their _magic_."

Kyle paused, looking at him suspiciously. "Wait. You don't think _I'm_.."

He shrugged, "I wouldn't know. Could be. Or it could be he just finds your skills could be more productive than you tend to make them. Or perhaps he's lonely and bored, I can't say. You know him far better than I do…" he looked towards the door and took a deep breath. "There's another reason I came in here, besides making sure you weren't bashing your head into the glass."

He narrowed his eyes, cautious. "What?"

"We can't talk about it here. But I wish to venture outside the burrow with you and discuss it out there. Where they can't hear us."

"I'd rather you didn't-"

He dropped his voice into a harsh whisper. "Kyle, either you and I talk about your little _aidarkeri_ obsession in private or I _tell_ the kiantri what you've been up to."

Kyle's face paled, heart beginning to pound all over again. "You wouldn't."

"This isn't a threat of blackmail, Kylenove'ia," he said sternly, getting to his feet and taking his scroll with him. "This is me making damn sure you _know_ what you're doing. Because you're already in this too deep with the outside reading you've been doing, _far_ worse than I think you know."

Kyle followed him onto shaking legs, staring at him with confused anger. "I haven't even _done that_ for months and-"

"And _when did I get here?"_ he hissed, keeping his voice low. " _Months_ ago. I wasn't going to stop here… but then I _had to_."

"What are you _talking about-_ " he paused, both of them looking towards the door at the sound of loud, unified murmuring echoing down the hall into the room.

Grego'ri sighed irritably. "Hanail is ending, I have to go back and help with the _Nai'lan no tav_ talks. It'll take me a few days of being hounded I'm sure, but then we _need_ to discuss it."

"Why? Why did you stop here?! At least tell me that!" he demanded, trying but failing to keep his voice at Grego'ri's level as he turned to walk out the door.

Grego'ri paused, hand flexing on the wooden handle before looking at him, Kyle taken aback by the somber tone in his gaze. "They know who you are, and they're looking for you," he said before leaving as the concluding prayer came to a close outside.

Kyle stood in staggered silence, trembling as the door closed behind him. A heavy gulp fell down his throat as his head automatically turned to look out the glass walls, towards the open chasm resting against the upper wall of the burrow that he'd been so desperate to fly out of just moments before.

Never before had it seemed so terrifying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So here's my awkward apology that I haven't updated since June. I'm sorry, it's been a mess for me since then. Started college (for the third fucking time fuck me), got and lost a job, and this story is just a complicated mythos and language mess so it takes forever to work out when it comes to Kyle's damn tribe. So yeah it's been a messy ride whoops.
> 
> Are you all confused by all the lore and lingo I threw into your faces? Me too all right we're suffering together! [insert HSM joke here]
> 
> Seriously though if you came back, thanks for continuing to support this story! Hopefully I'm uh, better as time goes on about updating increments but... I suck so I really can't promise anything. Thank you though nonetheless!


End file.
